


The Boyfriend Experience

by Ghostcat, MinilocIsland



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bot!Isak, Dick Jokes, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 82,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostcat/pseuds/Ghostcat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinilocIsland/pseuds/MinilocIsland
Summary: Even doesn’t really need a bot.What he needs is an actor. One who won’t bitch about the concept or the lighting or quit suddenly to follow a hook-up to Barcelona.He won’t be cruel or irresponsible. Even just has to make some films again soon before he forgets how or gets too scared to.Later on, when the Bot is sitting on the living room couch, one hand, soft and unexpectedly gentle, at his thigh, Even will think,shit.It’s more than that.He’d been lonely.(An Evak Botfic AUA love story)
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 647
Kudos: 346





	1. Like in the movies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pillowlava](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pillowlava/gifts), [Treehouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treehouse/gifts).



> Welcome to our long-gestating Even and Botsak fic!
> 
> In September 2019, the preview images of Tarjei Sandvik Moe in the short film that was then-called _The Boyfriend Experience_ and later retitled _On/Off_ , dropped. Immediately, we both tried to talk the other into writing something based on those stills, and after a few days, realized we could do it together.
> 
> Eight months later, the short film came out. While it had little to do with everything we'd written so far, we decided to keep going with our initial outline. This is the final result.
> 
> Initially, this was supposed to be a fun porny one-shot, but then it grew vastly beyond that and became a saga. This fic is long. Tagging its every twist and turn would probably give too much of the plot away, but we will make sure to post content warnings in the end notes of every chapter. 
> 
> The Boyfriend Experience is complete. A new chapter will post every week.
> 
> Last but not least: we've put a lot of thought and effort into this story, and above all we've poured a lot of love into this particular Even and Isak. We hope you'll come to love them as much as we do.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even doesn’t really need a bot at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please scroll down if you're worried about any squicks or triggers—no archive warnings apply, though.

It’s hot as balls. Even can’t remember the last time it was this hot.

(He will remember this detail later. He could have just bought a fan.)

Initially, he tells himself that it’s only for a film project. Nothing unseemly. He’s perfectly self-sufficient. Even doesn’t need a bot to clean, cook, or fuck him. Even doesn’t really need a bot at all.

What he needs is an actor. One who won’t bitch about the concept or the lighting or quit suddenly to follow a hook-up to Barcelona. An actor who can learn lines fast and do a simple eight-count. Who won’t complain when the ideas stop coming and all Even can do is stay in bed and sleep.

What Even needs is someone who doesn’t need to have the lulls explained to them, the tears. Someone who can make do with little to no explanations because they aren’t _anybody_. So not a person at all but a machine. A robot that can be turned on and off and reset to forget everything that’s ugly about Even. Something he could never disappoint.

Even won’t be cruel or irresponsible. He’s ethical and people have always told him that he’s kind. It wouldn’t be…exploitation. He just has to make some films again soon before he forgets how or gets too scared to. He needs to make things bearable again.

Later on, when the Bot is sitting on the living room couch, t-shirt too wide at the collar and one hand, soft and unexpectedly gentle, at his thigh, Even will think, _shit._

It’s more than that.

He’d been lonely.

* * *

Nothing good ever comes from a rainy Monday and Even knows he shouldn’t shop when he’s this agitated. It’s like going to the supermarket on an empty stomach. He doesn’t know what he wants, only that he wants.

The sweat pools on his lower back and his cantaloupe-colored shirt clings to the wet spot there.

He’s not manic.

He repeats that to himself a few times until it becomes a kind of jingle.

It’s an aimless, restless search, up and down the aisles of boxed bots, studying their faces. Long hair; short hair; sharp, pointy chins; full top lips; the reverse. All kinds of bodies; nude and pristine in their well-chosen flaws. They make them imperfect nowadays; perfectly imperfect. The way people want them to be―not better than them but attainable. Even tries to imagine their stories and there are too many to contemplate.

He nearly chooses one: a young woman with long wheat blonde hair and an upturned nose. Something about her smiling green eyes. The packaging promises “The Girlfriend Experience” and Even wonders what that is exactly. Is it hand-holding, home-cooked dinners you make together, watching a movie about a girl standing in front of a boy telling him she loves him? Or is it being loved no matter how badly you fuck up? Even pictures her at his window, looking right into the lens as the sun streams behind her, dressed in white with lens flare and music.

But then the box directly behind her has a cellophane tear. It draws his attention.

Same nose, same color hair, eyes, but on a young man. His mouth hangs open, exposing a pair of gapped front teeth. There, right over his top lip—a beauty mark.

Even can’t look away.

There’s a sticker on the packaging that says FINAL SALE and the box has a dent. Even can’t tell if the model is used. The overhead store lighting makes it difficult to gauge the bot’s condition. Its body is beautiful. Even forces himself to look back up. What if no one buys this bot? Will it be returned to the manufacturers and destroyed? The longer Even stares at the bot’s face, the more he sees in its open expression. A kind of melancholy.

He should leave. Come back in a couple of days when he feels less agitated and decide then.

He could leave. Come back in a couple of days and find it gone.

He makes it all the way out to the sliding doors at the front of the store before changing his mind and turning back.

It’s almost like buying a refrigerator. That banal and impersonal. Purchasing it means maxing out his card, and he holds his breath through the entire transaction. Since the floor model was the only one left, Even purchases a repair policy but refuses delivery, preferring to wrestle the box out to his car so he can take it home tonight.

The software installation takes forever. The setup involves Even answering an endless questionnaire that’s mostly about himself, his weaknesses and strengths. He gets bored halfway through, so he smokes some weed thinking it might help. It doesn’t help; it only makes the answering more difficult. There are drop-down menus to select special skills for the Bot. Why would anyone need a bot to tap dance? Why would Even need a bot to tap dance? Which then becomes, _why wouldn’t he?_ He’s never shot a dance sequence. That might be fun. He could bone up on his musicals. Busby Berkeley, Donen and Kelly, Fosse.

Even buys a few movies with his other credit card. It’s not a huge purchase. Not like he’s buying another bot. He does consider it. One could help crew or fill in for the other one. But Even doesn’t think he’s up for two roommates.

Under the category of Humanizing Features, the screen then asks if the Bot is allowed to experience sexual pleasure and of course it is. It should be free to do what it needs to. He’s not the Bot’s master. This is weird―with it being able to come, there’s ejaculate and a lot of tiny print that Even doesn’t bother to read but agrees to, clicking each and every yes box.

There are sexual questions for him too, regarding his own preferences. He skips past them since he doesn’t intend to do any of that. The Bot is beautiful but it cannot choose Even. It can’t say _be mine_ and mean it. Even’s the kind of person that needs to hear it―has to be certain. Because that’s the only way to know sometimes. If something is true.

Taking the Bot out of the box proves challenging. It’s heavy, all muscle and skin, naked and altogether lifelike. Pale but ruddy. Even marvels at its details once he’s laid it down on the floor; the fine lines of its veins, how its hair frizzes slightly at the crown, the tiny shadows cast by its eyelashes. It’s tall and strong-looking in a wiry sort of way. Its hands, though, are delicate, with fine, slender wrists. Inside the Bot’s open mouth, its pink tongue appears to glisten. It reminds Even of Shamu, the killer whale that starred in _Free Willy_ and naturally, that title makes him think of boners. This leads to giggly self-admonishments about mixing weed and AIs, and, since there’s no one to say _Even, don’t_ , he goes ahead and places two fingers in the Bot’s mouth, right on that rosy tongue. It’s wet. Soft. He rubs it. It’s unbelievably real, nearly like his own. All those little bumps. He’s forgotten what they’re called, they have a name. He really should’ve paid attention in school.

The Bot’s tongue moves underneath his fingers. It’s slow and subtle. Even’s breath hitches and he looks up into its previously blank eyes, which are now narrowed, alert, and right on him. The Bot _winks_ at the same time it closes its mouth around Even’s fingers and sucks. Warm becomes hot and Even feels as if he’s getting pulled into the deepening spiral of a wave—that same awe and fear as it approaches.

His—correction, _its_ ―eyes are beautiful.

“No,” he manages and just like that, the Bot goes back to blank. Its mouth is still clamped around his fingers so Even has to pry them out and when he does, he immediately puts them in his own mouth. Too soothe or taste, he doesn’t know. His heart pounds as if he’s been running for his life.

The Bot’s mouth is closed now but the lips don’t quite meet. The seam on one side remains open slightly. Even is hard and a single look down confirms that the Bot is as well. Shakily, Even walks backwards until he sinks into an armchair. A long time later, an hour at least, he hears a soft, “Hey.” Then. “Hey.” Again, a little gravelly. It coughs. “What time is it?”

As far as opening lines go, it’s not very definitive. The Bot looks sleepy and lost. Its penis is no longer erect and Even feels guilty for checking. He clears his throat. “I don’t know. Sorry. My phone died. The battery…”

“It’s okay.” It sits up, puts its arms around itself, and rubs its shoulder. “I know what time it is.”

“Are you cold?”

It nods and Even jumps up and runs to the bedroom, returning with two blankets, one blue and one red. The Bot raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I’m chilly, not suffering from hypothermia.”

It’s…sarcastic. Did Even ask for that? Maybe. He doesn’t remember. Even takes the blue blanket and holds his hand out to pull the Bot up to standing, wrapping the blanket over its head and around its shoulders. Its height is perfect for him, a good kissing height. Even fixes its hair away from its face and worries about where his stoned thoughts are taking him.

“You can kiss me.”

Even freezes. The Bot’s head angles back. There's his neck, also kissable.

“No. Thank you?”

The Bot looks perplexed, which only makes Even want to more. He looks down at its feet, slender with long, lovely toes, and sighs. Everything about it is lovely.

“Socks.”

“Socks?” It smiles. Its teeth are not the bright white, capped stuff of Hollywood films but they suit him. It. Make _it_ singular.

“You need some. Do you have a name?”

This is a slippery slope.

It tilts its head winsomely. “Do I?”

 _Does it?_ The box had no name. Even swallows. “Do you know what you are?”

The Bot rolls its eyes and reels off a long sequence of numbers. Off of Even’s expression, “My product number.”

“Those are numbers. Not your name.”

“You’re right, Even.”

Even grins delightedly. “You know mine!”

“Of course I do.” The bot raises an eyebrow and smiles. “So…you’re not going to give me one? A name?”

“You should name yourself.”

It considers that with a forward shrug.

Even gives it a t-shirt, boxers, pajama pants, and plain dark blue socks. They sit next to each other on the couch and Even apologizes about earlier with his fingers. He was curious, stoned, and rude, besides. He apologizes for buying it in the first place. It accepts both apologies, placing its hand on Even’s thigh and squeezing, a small, quizzical smile on its face.

Mostly they talk. Even has missed talking. He tells it about the movies he wants to make and then film in general. All the movies he loves that they should watch. About _Morvern Callar_ and _Plein Soleil_ and _Top Hat_ and dancing on chairs.

“You want me to dance in your movies?”

“No. I want you to just be. Or not. You don’t have to be my actor at all. If you don’t want.”

It’s true, he realizes. He means it.

“Why did you stop making movies?”

Even wants to say but he struggles to answer. How does one explain, with dignity, that they kept too many secrets and let their friends down? He starts to and stops. It doesn’t force him to go on.

The Bot chooses the name Isak. Turns and whispers it in Even’s ear. Their noses brush accidentally and the minute after stretches out the way it does in films, meaningful and rich.

* * *

Three hours later, Even’s alarm goes off. He wakes up alone, spread-eagle across his big bed with his feet hanging off the edge, heavy and cold. Surprised he’d gotten any sleep at all.

The Bot lies still on the living room couch with Even’s socks on its slender feet and his t-shirt crumpled up under its arms. Exactly like Even left it when he’d turned it off and gone to bed. It―Isak―is still in sleep mode, eyes closed, face expressionless but serene where it lies belly down, its hand under the pillow.

It looked like its neck would hurt in the morning if Even’d used one of the thick sofa cushions, so he’d fetched one from his bed. He does have too many pillows nowadays.

He contemplates if he should wake–activate–the Bot before he leaves for work. If it would take notice if Even didn’t. If it will wake by itself while he’s gone. If it will remember him.

In the end, his phone beeps and he startles at how late he already is. He doesn’t even want to think about how long he’s been sitting there.

Even settles for rearranging the curls on the Bot’s forehead, the now late morning light illuminating it in more different kinds of blonde than he could come up with.

They’ve really done a magnificent job with this one.

* * *

He isn’t sure what to expect as he puts the key in the apartment door that evening.

Will the Bot still lie in the same position on the couch, face now in shadows? Will it have moved to his bed?

He shakes the thought off and turns the key.

And okay. He wasn’t expecting _this_.

Isak is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter examining a bunch of window envelopes in his hand with a frown on his face. His upper lip is pulled up into a sort of displeased, upturned _w_ , lashes shadowing his cheeks and Even glances away, into the living room.

Where the bookshelves were laden with books, haphazardly stacked on top of another, papers and sketches of unfinished ideas sticking out between the volumes, there is now order. Peace. The dust cleared away, everything arranged in neat rows.

Just like Even has imagined that he’d do next weekend for the past year, when he’d have the time, the focus and the inspiration. Not too orderly, not sorted by color or alphabetically, just…satisfactory. Aesthetically pleasing. Manageable.

“This is dated two months ago, Even,” Isak says to his left, an impatient hoarseness to his voice. “Why haven’t you opened it?”

Did Even really set its settings to _this_?

“Are you hungry?” he says instead of answering.

Isak stares at him. “Do you really think I am?”

“I…don’t know?”

His expression is so irritated that Even laughs.

“Did you not read the materials I came with?” He crosses his arms and Even smiles wider.

“I may have skimmed it. Can you give me the abbreviated version?”

“Will you listen?”

 _If it’s you speaking, then yes._ Even nods.

“You can change my settings to allow me to eat but you’ll have to waive some of your warranty.”

“Allow you to eat,” he repeats.

“Eating is a complication. It requires activation of my digestive system, which then causes a strain—”

“You have a digestive system?!”

“A kind of one.” The corner of Isak’s lip curls up.

“Do you have a heart? Lungs?”

“Not like yours, not as intricate, but yes. Of a sort. You activated them.”

Even moves closer and leans down. “May I?”

Isak nods. Even presses his ear against Isak’s chest and there it is—fast and sure. “Beautiful. You’re breathing as well.”

As Even listens, Isak’s hand settles in Even’s hair. It’s tentative.

“Why, though?” Even murmurs, closing his eyes to the sound.

“So you see me as real.”

His eyes blink open to Isak’s. That pretty, uncomplicated green. No Pantone color could quite match their shade.

“Even. Open your mail. I’ll make you dinner.”

He groans and breaks away from the collective warmth. Isak’s hand stays poised in the air.

“That’s. No, I can make my own dinner.”

Isak juts out his chin. It’s defiant and vulnerable and who dreamed up this gesture?

“I already started it. Sit-” He taps the envelopes. “-open, read. Then, after dinner, you can film me washing the dishes.”

“I,” Even fumbles. “I don’t have my cameras ready.”

“Use your phone.”

“Is this bribery?”

Isak laughs and it is also beautiful. Bright. “I think that it’s called…incentive. I’m motivating you.”

The mail is mostly junk. A postcard from Turkey. A bill. A rejection to a film festival for a film he’d stopped loving halfway through making it. A sizable check for editing work he did on a music video for a Slovenian rock band made up of fashion models. A _check_ , Even shakes his head. He can’t believe people still pay in checks.

Apparently, stoned Even set Isak’s settings to be all sorts of contradictory things. He’s methodical about mail and paperwork but sloppy about clothing. He undresses where he stands, with little fanfare, clothes on the floor, and leaves the shower curtain open as he soaps himself slowly with Even stunned stupid at the sink, toothbrush in his mouth.

His body is as beautiful as a Renaissance sculpture. Even noticed that when Isak was boxed—which feels strange to think about, unnatural—but in front of him and breathing, water running down his neck to his chest, it is much more.

Even shuts the shower curtain.

“Do you actually need to shower?” His voice echoes in the bathroom, water puddling at his feet.

“No.” Then after a moment. “But.”

“But?”

He never explains.

Buzzed but exhausted, Even goes to sleep early. Sleep, actual sleep. Sometime during the day, Isak must have moved the iPhone charger across the bedroom. His iPhone sits on top of the bureau; it’s too far to grab and scroll through Twitter. The news. Netflix. Even’s eyes close before he knows it.

Isak continues to sleep on the couch. Even offers the bed but he demurs when he finds out Even means it as a swap.

He’s a terrible cook but he always cooks. Even comes home to tepid meals with odd garnishes. They somewhat resemble the photos in the cookbooks and the attempt fills Even with a kind of tenderness. Isak watches his face carefully as he chews.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” But Isak smiles as he asks. Even eats anyway.

Sometimes, Isak’s easily distracted. By reading, the news, a dumb meme on Even’s phone. By Even himself. He catches Isak staring, out of the corner of his eye. Even wonders how he processes information. Is it a screen inside his head, full of data, like the Terminator? Or is it only Even in those eyes, soap up to his elbows at the kitchen sink?

“Am I that interesting?”

Surely, Even didn't select a blushing feature?

"You should wear rubber gloves when you wash the dishes," Isak says, which is no answer at all.

Even buys rubber gloves but only Isak uses them, standing at the sink and carefully washing a plate, tongue between his teeth.

Isak doesn’t eat. He asks Even to think about it before setting that up. Even doesn’t know what’s worse: seeing the empty table in front of Isak, having the choice, or the reminder that none of this is real.

His hair seems to concern him a great deal. Whenever Isak walks by a mirror, he stops to tend to its appearance. Never his face, or his clothes, only that curly-wavy mane. Isak swivels his shoulders, inspecting it from every angle with a tiny frown of concentration and Even doesn’t know what to make of that detail. As confounding as it is, it’s also charming.

Isak’s extremely competitive and a bit of a shit talker, which is so human Even forgets and nearly kisses him one night after Isak destroys him at some dumb zombie game. Isak gets up on his knees on the sofa and looms above him, his wide mouth joyful, and Even wraps his hand around his neck, pulling him forward. Isak gasps silently and Even lets go with a muttered, “I’m sorry.”

They don’t kiss. Not then, or in the moments after. But they sit side by side on the couch the rest of the evening, so close that Even feels welded to him.

Their nights are varied. Isak’s quiet sometimes, sorting all of Even’s post-its on a formerly blank wall of the living room, studying them like flashcards for an exam. Or writing things down in an empty green notebook he’s appropriated that Even refuses to look at. Isak should have things that are only his.

“You need to read all this again,” Isak says, pointing to the wall. “You need to look. Put it all together.”

Out on Even's balcony, Isak tells him how to spot planets in the night sky. Even admits he took an Astronomy course at university and dropped it as soon as he realized how much math was involved.

Isak laughs, as bright as a star.

“Will you teach me about them?”

“I can do that.” He nods and licks his lips.

During the day, Even misses him. The way Isak turns to look at him over his shoulder. How he’s a terrible actor, suddenly wooden and mannered when Even picks up his iPhone and films him in the park. They go outside now, to the shops and to museums, and when Even isn’t filming him, Isak looks like any other person.

They don’t hold hands, though Even finds that he would like to hold hands. The urge hits him every time they sit down to talk, about anything really, like ventricular clouds and their UFO shapes, and Isak does this hiccuping laugh and says, “Len-ti-cu-lar, Even. Not ventricular. That’s the heart.” _It’s always the heart_ , Even thinks, staring longingly at Isak’s fingers.

One Sunday afternoon, during one of their many walks in the park, Isak asks about Even’s family and laughs at Even’s anecdotes about his father’s unfortunate black speedo that his mother can’t seem to make disappear. Unthinkingly, Even asks Isak about his family, he just wants to know everything about him so badly, and Isak’s face goes smoothly blank. Even had forgotten, for a moment, what Isak was.

A little girl runs by, wailing and holding her arms up to the sky. A red balloon floats away, well above her reach―up, up, up into the sky. Her mother picks her up and whispers in her ear. Another woman joins them, and the little girl puts her arms on them both, quieting as they murmur their consolations.

Isak smiles and his lips quirk teasingly, relaxed and present once more.

They don’t hug either. That should be safe. This would be the moment to start but Even knows he can’t. Once he does, he fears he won’t be able to stop.

* * *

Even tells himself that he opens the wardrobe full of filming equipment by accident. It’s not like he _has_ to make a movie right now. No pressure. He’s just gonna make sure the cameras aren’t too dusty and that all the cables are ready for when he’s actually gonna start shooting stuff again.

Also, it isn’t good to leave the battery dead for too long. Or is it the other way around? That you should drain the battery completely before recharging it? He never remembers.

Maybe he should ask Isak. He probably knows.

When everything’s out on the bedroom floor, however, there’s a tingling somewhere in a part of his brain that hasn’t lit up for a long while, a familiar flare of interest, and suddenly Even finds himself sitting cross-legged with his handheld digital camera in his lap, cord plugged in and screen lighting up.

He doesn’t check what’s on the memory card, just erases it. Focuses on thinking up the perfect position for Isak to stand instead. Maybe the living room window is the best spot—the light falls beautifully through the leaves there. When he closes his eyes, he can imagine the evening sun illuminating Isak’s hair. How the peach fuzz on his neck would shine like gold.

He waits until the battery’s charged halfway and then creeps out into the living room. Isak is standing by the window, head tilted in an angle that looks kind of awkward. He’s licking his upper lip in a fashion that Even has seen him do a hundred times, only this time he’s repeating it over and over again, like some kind of weird loop, and for a second Even is painfully reminded of what Isak is and what he isn’t. Should he really do that? Is it normal, even for bots?

He pushes it down. Isak’s full of all sorts of contradictory things anyway, and this is important. No distractions.

“Hey,” Even says. “Isak.”

Isak snaps out of it, turning with a confused smile that shifts into delight as he spots Even. “Hi.”

“Could you– Could you stand by the mirror over there? I’ve got something to show you.”

Isak nods, and with his usual ease walks over to the wall, hands in his pockets, the dips between the muscles on his arms elongated shadows running from his elbows to his wrists. Pure movie material.

“I’m thinking maybe we can film today?”

Isak looks down and nods. It’s realer than real, how he listens. It touches something inside Even. Like heartbreak in reverse.

“Did you get a chance to see the films on my laptop?”

Even set up a folder with some of his favorites. Not sparse films with few people, which Even is sometimes partial to, but the ones with great faces, humor, and romance. The kind he can watch over and over again on the days when he’s crawling his way out of nothing.

“The love films.”

He blushes when Even laughs. “The romantic comedies.”

“Then yes.” Isak nods.

“Not quite as complicated. We don’t need plot. Just you at first, by the window.”

“Okay. Should I get into costume? Like in the movies?”

“Sure.”

While Isak changes, Even finds his light meter and tries to turn it on―dead. He’s bound to have a battery somewhere. Digging around, he finds a basket under the television with a notecard attached to it that says simply, “Batteries.” He sends a silent thank you to the bot gods for Isak and his organizational brilliance.

“I’m ready.” Isak stands there in Even’s Goodie Mob t-shirt and gray sweatpants that are too short for Even but are perfect on him. The cuffs of his sweats are stuffed in his athletic socks―white with two maroon-colored stripes at the ankle―bunched up, as if he was in a rush to dress.

Even loves this. These details, Isak’s details are precise and lovely, too good for mere fiction.

There’s a backwards snapback on his head, that Isak shifts around so that it sits slightly off to the side, rakishly. Even cannot for the life of him figure out what Isak is going for, but he loves the surprise of it.

He’s using that word a lot, _love_ , to describe Isak; the things he says and does. This should trouble Even more, perhaps.

“What film?”

Isak raises an eyebrow.

“Your costume? I don’t recognize it.”

He looks down at himself, smoothes down the t-shirt and shrugs. “Most of them.”

Isak watches movies all day or so he tells Even. He wants to see what Even sees. _To get to know you better_ , Isak says. Hence the folder. Even makes him playlists too, which Isak downloads directly to himself, and it blows Even’s mind a little. Makes him wonder if Isak can soundtrack moments, really do it, just like a film. What song does Isak play when he opens his eyes in the morning? When he’s reading or taking one of his many showers? What song does he play when he sees Even?

He reads too, much more than Even ever has, and usually about subjects Even would never think to investigate. Epidemiology, for one, which Even didn’t even know as a word, much less as a concept. In response, they watch Marker’s _La Jetée_ and at the end, Isak looks at him as if he understands.

“Is this also a love film?”

“It could be,” Even replies, brushing Isak’s hair back from his face.

As easy as it is to pretend that this is real, Even is aware that their exchanges are one-sided—a ball bouncing off a blank wall. Anything he thinks he might see in Isak’s many expressions is pure projection.

But Isak’s cooking isn’t getting any better. There’s always a whole bay leaf he forgets to remove that Even bites into, the bitter aftertaste settling into his gums and it’s somehow reassuring, this failure.

Sometimes, on the sunny days, Isak goes outside. He has a key, but Even doesn’t ask him where he goes. Isak usually volunteers: _Not far_. Which, for him, could mean anything. It’s relative. What qualifies as far? Does Isak even get tired? 

“Can you get closer to the light for me? Let me know when the sun feels warmest on your cheek.”

Even switches to his photo camera and takes a few snaps. Isak startles, shifts his shoulders back, then gradually relaxes into a kind of wary acceptance.

“This okay?” Even asks.

“I don’t like photos.”

Even pauses and Isak looks confused. He licks his lips and blinks up at Even. “I don’t know what that means. My saying that. I’m sorry.”

“Should I stop?”

“No.” Isak shakes his head, eyes fluttering. “I don’t like them but it doesn’t mean I can’t. Or won’t.”

Isak sniffs, touching his nose with one hand while adjusting his snapback with the other. He does that a lot, Even has noticed, which doesn’t really make sense but only makes Isak more fascinating. Alluring in all his nearly-human contradictions. All these tiny, idiosyncratic behavioral details. He’s a work of genius.

Even shifts closer during Isak’s pauses. Isak breathes in and goes still, shutting his eyes. Did Even give him those three freckles on his neck? That first night, when he did the set-up? Even knows he didn’t give him the one above his lip. Who chose them? Can Isak choose to give himself more? Can he choose anything at all? Even doesn’t like these questions.

“I’m not sure what you want?” Isak asks, as quiet as a sigh.

“Can you―” Even turns and peers at him favoring right, then left. Left. “Start by looking out the window. At the trees, then back at me. But not me exactly…the lens? Can you look at the lens and pretend it’s me?”

Isak nods. “Certainly.”

“Great. Then just do or say whatever you want. Surprise me. I like everything you do.”

 _It’s true_ , Even thinks and hits record. Isak hair is wavy but under the hat, it looks like there are curls peeking out here and there. He stares out the window, at clouds or birds, and swallows.

Film is what Even should be using on him. 35 mm. Something lasting, warm analog instead of digital. Isak turns his head, looks at the lens, and Even’s breathing shifts into something small. They stare at one another this way—through the lens.

His eyes are astonishing and Even is so lost to them, he registers the movement of Isak’s hand like secondhand smoke. Isak raises his shirt, fingers brushing his skin, chest, and a pinch of nipple.

“Isak. What are you doing?”

“What?” Isak takes off his shirt, Even’s shirt, and readjusts his hat. “You want this.”

One hand bunches up his discarded t-shirt, now balled up next to him, the other’s flat on his chest―four fingers close together, thumb apart, caressing upwards to his neck, then back down. His skin is golden, sun-kissed. It was like that right out of the box.

Even should stop him but there are freckles on Isak’s shoulders.

Isak’s chest is defined, muscular but not overly so. Even’s seen it, many times, and looked away, just as many times, but he’s filming now and the rise and fall of it makes Even hard. Isak breathes and his stomach moves, his belly button― _how_ it moves, erratic and so real. Isak’s hand keeps traveling down, over his crotch and the visible erection there. He rubs it with the heel of his hand and _what does Isak breathe if he doesn’t need oxygen?_ Even doesn’t have enough.

Even knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help continuing to film Isak’s face and body, the light streaming around him, the dust motes in the air. He is perfectly framed, perfectly in focus. Perfect.

Those eyes don’t leave the lens, not even when his head falls back against the wall and he swallows. Isak’s throat works and works, slow, like a struggle.

His thumb moves toward his waistband and Isak teases the elastic. “You want this,” he repeats.

Helplessly, Even watches through the camera as Isak spits into his palm, and pulls the front of his sweatpants down with his other hand so that the waistband cups his balls, which sit high and tight like he’s already about to come. And his cock is beautiful, the head a faint purple. Isak covers it with his fist and fucks up into it, groaning.

“You want to put that mouth of yours―” Isak’s words catch on another groan, “―on me. You’re gonna suck my cock so good. Like a dirty. Little. Slut. A dirty fucking cum slut that―” He stops again, mouth open and panting like a caught fish and the image slips away when Even tries to put the camera down and it clatters on the hardwood floor.

Even says, “Stop. Please,” bending forward slowly, voice muffled by his knees, his hands on the floor. He doesn’t dare to look up.

The sound of Isak’s heavy breathing stops and Even stays still, curled up and willing his hard-on away. He’s ashamed of how much he wants this but the shame is stronger than the urge to give in.

Isak’s socked feet appear in front of him, his slender ankles. Even feels Isak’s hand on his shoulder.

“Did you not like what I did?”

“It―where did you hear that…those words?”

“The dialogue?” The floor creaks as Isak kneels in front of him, and shrugs. “In the love movies.”

When Even raises his head in surprise, Isak smiles. He’s shirtless but the sweatpants are pulled back up. Isak sits back on the floor, crosses his feet, and rests his chin on his knee, reciting, “You like it when I fuck your mouth with my big fat cock, don’t you, baby? Look at you taking it so well, gonna make you fucking choke on―”

“Yeah. Okay. Got it.”

He looks so pleased with himself, Isak, that Even finds himself laughing. Isak laughs too, like they’re sharing a joke. Even reaches for the camera and Isak hands it to him, gently, the way it should be handled. Even presses stop on record and out of professional habit, scrolls back, the image freezing on Isak’s fingers at his neck, the line of his collarbones.

“I’m sorry. The movies you saw…that wasn’t the right folder. I fucked up.”

“Oh. So you don’t―” Isak lifts his chin and licks his lower lip slowly. “…want to finish?”

_Yes._

“No.”

Isak stares at him gravely and Even shifts forward.

“But it was good. You looked amazing, Isak. We’ll try again, okay? Something different.”

“We’ll try again. Something different.” Isak turns his head and squints at him. The snapback’s still on somehow. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. Maybe.”

Even should have password protected his porn.

The second Isak started talking he should’ve stopped filming.

He should have stopped him. Period.

The footage isn’t deleted. Even’s nothing but terrible decisions and thoughtlessness.

Isak keeps close to him the rest of the evening, a shadow in every room, as if he knows something is wrong, and asks, soft and nearly-timid, to sleep in his bed that night. Even says yes, and stays awake past 2.00, watching Isak in sleep mode, on his belly and peaceful―thinking, _Does he dream?_

His own dreams are a continuation of earlier, except cornier, and with a soundtrack. Isak’s in that hat again, smiling as he fucks Even’s face to the sounds of Biggie’s “Me and My Bitch” and cherry blossom petals rain from the ceiling. When Isak comes, so does Even and he wakes up like this—messily.

Next to him, Isak’s eyelids flutter and keep fluttering. It goes on and on until Even’s alarm rings.

Even’s never seen this before. It’s like when Isak licked his lip over and over by the window, only longer, and scaringly mechanical. It can’t be right.

What’s worse is that it happens three more times that month.

At home, after watching an episode of _Cosmos_ , with Isak explaining something called neutrinos and an experiment in Antarctica when his voice skips, he blinks, and the blinking becomes a flutter.

In the bathroom one morning, mid-shave, because Isak shaves, which is its own little miracle. But he stands there, frozen, eyelids moving and moving, half his face covered in shaving cream.

And once, frighteningly, in the supermarket. Isak stops speaking, freezing in place with an apple in his hand. Even stays close, pressed against his shoulder and, not quite knowing what to do, he talks. As if Isak can hear him and is actively listening. Even rambles for five minutes about synthetic banana flavoring, something he’d read on the internet which was probably bullshit, and stops only when he catches the eye of a pensioner frowning at them both and he doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know. What’s happening or how he’ll get him home. If Isak’s okay or if this is it.

The weight on his shoulder shifts and Isak puts the apple in the basket. “Did you want to get bananas?”

There’s only one explanation, and as little as Even wants to admit it, he knows.

Isak’s glitching.

* * *

Even returns to the store and walks down the aisle where he found Isak but there are no others for sale. Only the female versions of the same model. They are beautiful as well, same slender necks, but they’re not Isak.

He speaks to a manager, a roly-poly man with an auburn beard who nods as Even talks. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. We only ever had the one. It was an unmarked box with no other information and the manufacturer wouldn’t accept the return.”

“I see.” Even doesn’t see. “What about my repair warranty?”

The man has the decency to look guilty. “I would be more than happy to let you exchange the faulty bot with the Penetrator Chris model.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He’s a best seller.”

The manager guides him to a row of bots. Brunette with pink splotches at each cheek and a rakish half-grin; the Penetrator Chris bot’s teeth are pearly and perfect.

“No, thank you. Do you have a repair shop here?”

“We do but our guy doesn’t specialize in the Illuminati line.” The manager gives him an apologetic smile and scratches the side of his face. “I may know a guy though…someone who might be able to help you.”

The manager hands him a post-it with a phone number and JONAS @DRAGESTIL written in block letters.

“Is that a store?”

“No, that’s the guy’s, uh, Jonas’s handle. Don’t ask him about it or call him Jonas, he gets testy. He knows his shit though. Just tell him it’s an Illuminati carebot and he’ll help you.”

“Thanks.”

When he gets home, Isak is in sleep-mode. Even gently presses his temples so he doesn’t wake up and hears himself being talked about.

He practices his approach for ten minutes, then hits call. It rings once and a man answers with a low voice. There’s noise behind him like he’s outside.

_Don’t call him Jonas, don’t call him Jonas._

“Hello. I’m looking for Jonas. I mean, Dragestil?” Even winces. “Fuck, sorry.”

There’s silence on the other side. “Hold on.”

Even hears movement, then the unmistakable slide of a screen door. “Okay, who is this?”

“My name is Even. I have an Illuminati bot that’s been having issues. The manager at the store gave me your number.”

There’s additional silence. “Are you fucking the carebot?”

He blanches. “What?”

“It’s a simple yes or no question. Are you using the carebot for sex?”

Isak is stretched out on the bed in the other room. Even berates himself to _think_. “No. It’s not like that.”

“No?” A humorless laugh. “You care about her? Treat her well? Let her wear clothes?”

“That’s-”

“Why do you need her repaired? What did you do to her?”

“First of all, I didn’t do anything, and second of all, it’s a he.”

The man’s breathing is all he can hear. “What?”

Even is furious suddenly, perceiving his silence as heteronormative fuckery or worse, homophobia. “ _He’s_ glitching. His eyes blink rapidly. And he freezes. Not all the time, but randomly. I can’t predict it.”

There’s a throat clearing. “Look, dude. I can’t help you. I’m only familiar with the Illuminati line.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The Illuminati line only has a female carebot model. They were designed to be nurses, caretakers, companions, not sex workers. The investors behind that line didn’t think people would want a male caretaker so none were manufactured.”

The unmarked box. Isak, with his open mouth and long lashes.

“I don’t understand,” Even repeats, in a whisper. “He’s an Illuminati bot.”

“I’m sorry.”

The call disconnects.

Even moves to the bedroom and lies down next to Isak, brushing his hair back. Running a thumb across his eyebrow, he presses Isak’s on button and holds it down for fifteen seconds. Isak’s eyes open slowly at the end of the count.

“Even.”

He’s never taken care of anything in his life. He doesn’t know how.

“Hi.”

Isak starts to sit up and Even pulls him back down.

“Let's stay here a bit.”

“Let me make you dinner.”

“I ate. Just stay here.”

“You’re scared.”

Even’s eyes widen. “No.”

“Don’t be scared. It’s all going to be okay.”

Isak’s face moves in, eyes enormous and lashes soft against his cheek. Even stops breathing. Isak embraces him, pulls him close. The trembling passes, and in time, so does the fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible content warnings for this chapter: Porn-style dirty talk, masturbation, and the entire damning business of dubious consent because SEX BOT.


	2. This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want me to contact you at work?”
> 
> Even thinks of the stall, the tiles, the green of Isak’s eyes when he closes them.
> 
> “Yes.”
> 
> Isak brightens. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please scroll down if you're worried about any squicks or triggers—no archive warnings apply, though.

A week had gone by without incident and Isak hadn’t glitched once. Even chalks it up to a software update gone wonky; perhaps all Isak had needed was time to recalibrate. In any case, he’s fine, just fine.

Even’s fine too.

It’s a perfectly regular Thursday evening, hot July sun shining on the still-messy dinner table. Even distractedly carries the dirty plates to the sink while admiring Isak’s almost militaristic approach to organizing the fridge: he moves jars around on the shelf with a concentrated crease between his eyebrows, until there’s a perfect slot for the mustard to fit into. He’s wearing a gray t-shirt, combined with the most unused piece of clothing Even’s ever owned—a pair of yellow running shorts that Even once bought on a whim during a half day-long conviction that he’d take up running, and never used. They’re kind of small on Even, but on Isak they sit almost ridiculously tight, riding up to the very top of his thighs.

It’s fascinating, the fact that Isak doesn’t seem to care at all what he’s wearing. He could be in a pair of beige ill-fitting chinos and a washed-out purple t-shirt and move around the apartment with the same proprietary, business-like attitude.

When the doorbell rings, Even reluctantly tears his gaze away. He’s distracted enough by the sight Isak makes not to check through the spy hole, so when he opens the door and there’s Sonja, with an opened envelope in her tensed-up hand, he startles.

He’d kind of forgotten she existed.

“Ehm,” he starts. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she says, an impatient smile on her lips. “Can I come in?”

Straight to the point as ever. Even can’t rack his brain for a good enough reason to say no, so he takes a step back. She closes the door behind her, tapping her foot against the hallway mat while she hands him the envelope.

“This came for you,” she says, as Even hesitantly accepts the letter.

In the kitchen, he hears the water run. Even bites his lip. “Um, actually–”

“You’d forgotten that some of your mail still comes to my place.”

He had. Of course he had.

“You don’t have to–”

The water stops.

Sonja doesn’t seem to notice. As she enters the living room, her expression morphs into that familiar worrying one that makes Even want to recoil and lash out at the same time, like a scolded teenager.

“Um, actually, I _wish_ I didn’t have to. It’s just that I can’t really ignore you maxing out your credit card even if we’re not together anymore. Not that I know how you could spend _that_ much in an electronics store, but.” She crosses her arms, then lets them hang. “It’s– I’m sorry for barging in like this, but—Even, I worry about you on your own.”

“Look, I’m-”

“He’s not on his own,” Isak says behind him.

Sonja’s eyes widen a little. Isak stands, leaning against the door frame of the living room.  
  
He’s shirtless. Dressed in nothing but those tiny shorts, with matching bright yellow rubber gloves on his hands; they’re sudsy and wet, dripping onto the floor.

Even swallows, before he averts his gaze to Sonja, her forehead in wrinkles.

“I was doing the dishes. I wore gloves like you should,” Isak chirps and does he always sound this artificial? Sonja’s eyes dart between Isak, Even, and the still-folded envelope in Even’s hands. The expression on her face as realization dawns is far too familiar.

“Oh, Even,” she says, her eyes pitying.

“I can explain.”

“I am Isak.” Isak doesn’t move, just stands still, eyeing Sonja directly, in a manner that doesn’t match the smile in his voice. “And you are?”

“A friend of Even’s.” Her gaze travels down to Isak’s bare feet, then up those legs and back to Even.

“It’s good to have friends,” Isak sing-songs. “I am also Even’s friend.”

Even has to swallow down a laugh and take a step back. Closer to Isak. When he realizes how that looks, Even moves away, putting space between himself and the two of them.

“We make movies together,” Isak continues, helpfully.

Even clarifies quickly. “Not like that.”

“Not like what?” Sonja turns to him, scandalized.

“We make movies about love.” Isak stretches out the word ‘love’ and is Even imagining sarcasm or is it always there, just like this, revealing itself like the twist in a joke? “Are you in his movies too?”

And Isak’s back to guilelessness, his eyes enormous.

Sonja brings her hand up to the side of her face as if she has a toothache. “No.”

“Oh? We can show you. Let me get ready.”

Even realizes what Isak will do about six seconds too late, so he watches, paralyzed, as Isak wiggles those tiny shorts down his legs and kicks them up into his waiting hand, in one fluid movement. He stretches, fully nude, rubber gloves and all, and steps up to Even to kiss him sweetly on the cheek.

“You should shower too. It will help you relax.” His voice is low, with none of its previous musical brightness. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Even confirms, helpless.

Isak steps towards the doorway to the hall, pausing to address their unexpected visitor. He casually uses that scrap of yellow fabric to cover his junk. “Stress isn’t good. For anyone. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m glad you do, Sonja.”

She hadn’t given her name but Isak knows who she is—his voice drops lower on those two syllables with crisp deliberation. Even has definitely mentioned her once or twice. He’d thought that maybe Isak had been in standby mode at the time; his eyes had been blank and not in his. Not like they are now.

Sonja isn’t the sort of person that’s ever at a loss for words and Even watches her struggle with some fascination. Finally she manages a clipped, “I think I’m going to go.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Isak says with genuine-seeming regret. “Might as well shower anyway. I’ve been working hard today.”

There’s a pause, then Isak turns to Even and blinks once—soft, slow; a message. _Breathe, Even_ and Even does. Isak swivels back round to Sonja, and waves—a ludicrous, sudsy wiggle of his rubber gloved fingers.

“Nice meeting you!” he says brightly, running shorts still dangling in front of his crotch, which is somehow more outrageous than his bare ass when he exits. Moments later, the sound of the shower brings Even back to himself.

“Even.”

“Sonja.”

Even matches her frazzled, worried tone and it’s accidental, not mockery. She was his mirror for so long and old habits die hard.

“Is he…? He isn’t—” she stops and looks at the puddle on the floor. The mess of it in stark contrast to how clean and tidy everything else is. “Whatever’s happening here…this can’t be good for you.”

“I’m fine.” Strangely, it feels somewhat true.

“I think you need to talk to someone.”

“I’m in therapy, Sonja. I’m fine,” Even says again, sticking the letter into his back pocket. “But thanks.”

* * *

The thing is—Sonja was right. Only partly, and not in the way she’d think, but.

Even hasn’t told his therapist about the Bot either. He’s…a secret.

This whole situation with Isak is getting to his sleep. The unfocused hours at work, the staring in front of his computer, the pictures of Isak in his backwards snapback dancing in front of his eyes as soon as he closes them. Even’s obsessed. He knows he is.

He’s not thinking faster, better, or having more brilliant ideas—this is where Sonja would be wrong—but rather the opposite. He’s stuck.

It’s not that he’s slipping, but he isn’t exactly focused.

This isn’t hypomania. 

It’s Isak. Isak is the cause.

Sitting in front of his work computer reviewing multiple takes of a commercial, images of Isak with his head against the wall keep intruding. Isak’s open mouth, the hard red tip of his dick appearing and disappearing in his fist. Even blinks, and Isak’s green eyes are there. The pool of water on the hallway floor. The outline of his naked body behind the shower curtain.

Even never deleted the video. He doesn’t watch it either.

Where would he watch it anyway? He can't do it at home, not in Isak’s presence. Isak probably wouldn’t be opposed to it, which is evidence enough that Even shouldn’t.

It sits in Even’s phone for a solid two weeks until he decides that he might be better off watching it just once. Get it out of his system. Just make sure how bad it was so he can delete it with a clean conscience.

It says something about Even’s ability to loophole himself out of one bad idea and into another that he actually goes through with it.

He decides for the bathroom at work—they aren’t stalls, but separate toilets with doors that close all the way up and down—which is probably as good as it gets. Still, he makes sure to plug his earphones in very thoroughly and lower the volume before he presses play.

It only takes a few seconds for him to regret his decision. In what fucked-up state of mind must he be if he managed to convince himself that this was a good idea?

The sunlight dances across Isak’s face in the video, his lashes hypnotizing, the tip of his tongue irresistible. Even knows just what it’d feel like to rub his finger over it, how Isak would look if he closed his lips and sucked–

The flush spreads across Isak’s neck, and Even wants to pause the film, but can’t.

He watches until the very end, until the only thing he sees on screen is the floorboards, Isak’s voice a hoarse, soft laugh off-screen, and Even closes his eyes.

He sits on the toilet seat for a long time afterward, focusing on the zig-zag pattern of the floor tiles. Not that it helps. The only thought occupying his head is how he wants to go home to Isak and ask him to do the same thing all over again.

He doesn’t delete the video this time either. It sits in its unnamed folder, tucked away so any of his co-workers won’t accidentally see it when Even just wants to show them a funny meme.

That night, he doesn’t fall asleep until it’s nearing dawn, watching Isak lie motionless on his side of the bed with his cheek squished against the pillow. His eyelashes are as long as in the video, and Even’s chest is filled to the brim and achingly empty at the same time.

* * *

He can’t remember how much he told Isak about his bipolar—that is, typed it into the _machine_ before he activated it—but somehow, it seems, Isak knows. Because of course he does.

Even can’t know if Isak is so brilliantly constructed that he attunes to Even’s moods without acknowledging it, or if his actions are based on some kind of information file Isak’s downloaded, but it’s a fact that one night there’s a zopiclone and a glass of water on his bedside table when Even goes to change into his pajamas.

The look on Isak’s face as Even enters the living room is no different than usual. No raised eyebrows or expectant smiles, just one of his usual snarky comments about some idiot on the tv news, and Even’s heart swells.

The way Isak has claimed his spot as a natural constant in Even’s life has hardly been more obvious than in this moment.

Still, he hides the zopiclone in his pocket.

Just like when it comes to the film on his phone, he doesn’t look when Isak, as usual, undresses without preamble in front of Even before getting into bed. Even lies awake after midnight anyway, watching the curls at Isak’s temples, the birthmarks on his cheeks.

There’s another sleeping pill on his bedside table the next day, but Isak doesn’t say anything about it. Only lies there naked and perfect with a content smile on his face, as if Even was scratching the soft skin behind his ear.

Even waits for an hour, then makes sure Isak is in sleep mode before he slips out of bed and gets into the shower. He ignores his erection and focuses on the heat of the water sliding down his back, the still-cool tile under his palm. Grounding him. The bathroom door is open when he gets out. Even frowns, certain he’d closed it.

Sonja hasn’t called since her impromptu visit but she messages. The text notifications pile up in number until finally, Even messages her that he needs a break from her fretting and blocks her number. There is no guilt in that moment; it’s a necessary step. Nevertheless, when he plugs in his phone, he powers it off as well. Like writing a task down and then underlining, just to be clear to oneself that it means something.

He makes sure to message his mother every Sunday like he always does, though. Maybe it’s an unconscious attempt to hold her off from calling so she won’t accidentally find out about Isak. It’s not that he’s got anything to hide, it just seems unnecessary to complicate things. He doesn’t need her to worry, too.

When he goes to bed, Even drinks the water and takes the zopiclone.

* * *

Even gets Isak a phone of his own. So that Isak can message him during the day. It seems like a good idea at the time. Isak leaves the house more regularly while Even’s at work and he thinks Isak should have one just in case.

“Just in case…?

“…you need me?”

Isak raises an eyebrow.

“Or if you want to…talk.”

“You want me to contact you at work?”

Even thinks of the stall, the tiles, the green of Isak’s eyes when he closes them.

“Yes.”

Isak brightens. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

The first message is a photo of the living room. The second image is the view of colorful garden allotment cottages from Even’s bedroom window. The third is of Isak, mostly nose and top lip, and grinning. After that there are memes, gifs, and strings of nonsensical emojis. Even laughs when Isak tells him he’s trying to speak his language. It’s a gorgeous day outside and Even could be anyone speaking to their significant other during a break. An ordinary person who is not alone.

Isak’s face beams at him on his phone. “Visuals. You communicate with images, Even.” His grin changes then. “When can we make more movies? I’ve been looking at some photographs from that artist you li―”

Even interrupts by saying he’s got to go back upstairs and ends the call, leaning against a building wall for a minute. Before he leaves work, he watches the video again, waiting until everyone’s left before heading to the bathroom. This time he spits into his hand and jerks off, fast enough so as not to be interrupted but really, it doesn’t take much. He rests his head against the side of the stall and pants, the sound of it loud in the room.

That night, after dinner, Even downloads the Grindr app. Something’s got to give, and clearly he needs an outlet for the blazing return of his libido. Especially now that Isak’s here, looking delectable in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, and smiling. It’s not his fault Even’s a monster.

Grindr is weird. It’s like ordering sexual take-out which seems…lazy. Also, it feels like _cheating_. Even knows it isn’t. Why would Isak care about his sex life? Yet, there’s something wrong to this. All the men he looks at, and he’s only looking at men, are similar in some way to the one in front of him. But none are right.

He’s aware that he looks ridiculous, angling his phone away every time Isak comes into the room. Then, when a notification comes in, it startles Even so much that he drops his phone and Isak catches it before it lands on the floor. Isak looks at the screen and tonelessly says, “You have a new notification from…” He pauses and Even doesn’t breathe. “…hestepikk89?” Isak licks his lips. “He wants to…what’s…‘snowballing’?”

Even thinks he might spontaneously combust. “I have no idea.”

Of course, he has every idea but he very much wants this conversation to end.

“Would you like me to answer for you? Confirm that you are ‘clean’?”

“Don’t. Please.”

Slowly, Isak hands him the phone and Even fumbles with it, almost dropping it again. “Err…thank you.” He pockets his phone and Isak remains where he’s at, his head tilted at an angle and his gaze fixed somewhere above Even’s left shoulder.

“Huh,” Isak says softly, redirecting his eyes to meet Even’s. “You want to perform fellatio on hestepikk89 until he climaxes in your mouth so you can then spit his semen in his?”

“What?”

Isak’s stare is pure curiosity, blank and nonjudgmental. “I ran a search.” He moves closer to Even and Even swallows, holding the phone to his chest. “Is that something you like?”

Even doesn’t answer.

“Is your name meant to be screamed?”

“My what?”

“Your username, ‘JERKSTORE’ is in caps. Should I say it louder? I can do that for you, I can—”

He cuts Isak off, tells him he has a project and pretends to work in the kitchen, looking at his laptop and letting his thoughts spiral.

For his part, Isak doesn’t mention it again. He doesn’t even mock Even for it, which he does sometimes. It is one of the most surprising things about Isak. He has a sense of humor. Even thought bots were supposed to be literal but that isn’t the case with Isak. He laughs all the time, over the silliest things, his shoulders jerking forward, jostling himself.

In any case, Even deletes the app.

A couple of days later, Even returns home and Isak’s sitting on the couch looking at a book of Cindy Sherman photos. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Even watches him turn the pages with his beautiful hands. Isak stops at _Untitled Film Still #07_. “I could do that,” he says, his finger sliding down the length of Sherman’s leg. “You had this book under your bed.”

“Yes. It’s fed my dreams.”

“I can do that,” Isak insists, his voice quivering and Even doesn’t know, isn’t sure, if he means that he can replicate the pose or feed Even’s dreams as well.

That night as Even brushes his teeth, leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, Isak at the edge of the bed, still gazing at those photographs, the book spread out on his lap. One in particular― _Untitled Film Still #54_ ―which Even recognizes, even upside down. Cindy walks outside in the street, pulling her coat collar up. He likes that one too, how she almost looks like a boxer. Shoulders bent forward defensively, arms up. A fighter.

“Even.”

Isak hasn’t looked away from the page.

“Yes?”

“What does it feel like to want something?”

It takes him by surprise. “Hold on,” he says and rushes to the bathroom to spit in the sink, gargle, and generally take too long. Buying time so he can think about it.

When Even returns, Isak’s steady gaze is waiting for him.

“What do you mean by ‘wanting something’?”

There’s a slight waggle to Isak’s head as he answers, a soft mockery. “Desiring something. To have a desire to possess or do something, wish for it. Crave. Long for. Yearn. Need.”

“Like a person? Or something more abstract?”

“Me. How does it feel to want me?”

It feels like cold water pouring down Even’s back.

What does Isak know? Does he know Even never deleted the video? Does he know how many times he’s watched it? Can he hear how fast his heart is beating? Right now? Is Isak measuring the dilation of his pupils? Tracking how quickly his chest rises and falls?

“Umm.”

“Relax,” Isak blinks. “It’s fine to want me.”

Even swallows. “Fine?”

“ _Good_ to want me?” Isak raises an eyebrow on that. Smiles. He unbuttons his short-sleeved shirt and throws it at Even, who catches it dumbly. “ _Welcome_ to want me.”

“Welcome,” Even repeats.

“You see…I ask because I learn. I self-improve. Constantly and recursively. And I think I understand want.”

Isak undresses differently tonight. The button is a period, the zipper is a dash. It punctuates his words. He throws those clothes at Even too. He’s still smiling. Every bit of it deliberate.

Then, just like that, Isak stops. He takes the clothes from Even’s arms and folds them carefully while Even slowly freaks out.

Isak leaves to brush his teeth and it sounds like he’s singing as he does it. _That,_ Even wants to call out to him. _It feels like waiting for you to finish brushing and come back to me._ But his voice can’t get louder than a whisper. 

When Isak returns, Even makes sure his eyes are closed. Isak wouldn’t point out that Even’s pretending to sleep. He would do exactly as he does: get back into bed and turn off the light with absolutely no comment at all.

After enough time has passed for Even to feel like it’s safe to open his eyes, he keeps still, on his back, eyes scanning the ceiling in a mild panic. Back and forth and closing to flutter, over and over again. Perhaps he’s the one with a fault. When he turns on his side, after an hour of this horrible wakefulness, Isak backs up and molds himself against the front of Even’s body. The soles of his smooth feet sliding over Even’s, stretching, the inside of Isak’s kneecaps aligning with his. Strong, hairy thighs to Even’s smoother slimmer ones. His ass to Even’s pelvis, his crotch, where he’s hard, stupidly hard, and Isak rocks there, pressing perfectly as Even barely breathes.

“It feels good to want you. Like an ache,” he admits, eventually, head slumping forward.

Much easier to tell Isak’s back, the knobs of his spine, his neck.

“I shouldn’t though. I’m sorry.”

Isak’s hand takes Even’s and he brings it up and around so that it presses flat against Isak’s chest. “What do you want right now?”

A not-real heart, speeding up at the question.

“To make you feel good. If that’s possible.”

The turn of Isak’s head is as precise as a film close-up. It’s dark but Even can picture his eyes as clearly as if he’d directed the shot.

“I want that too,” Isak replies, with his particular sultry-sweet hoarseness, and slowly drags Even’s hand down until it’s on Isak’s cock, which is just as hard. Even groans as he slides his palm down its length, without Isak’s assistance.

Even hesitates. Isak didn’t say if it was possible. _How could one enjoy something that’s completely one-sided?_

Isak doesn’t wait for his answer. He says, “Good night, Even,” and rolls forward, onto his stomach, eyes closed and gone.

The mornings of the following week all go like this: Even wakes up to the smell of coffee and Isak greets him in the kitchen with a smile and eyes that seem to carry an entirely different conversation. Before Even goes out the door, Isak takes his arm and lifts his face to kiss him on the cheek. It’s prim and precise and gets Even hard every time.

“Have a good day.”

By the end of the week, the kiss is closer to his mouth, it lands on the corner of his lips and Isak’s arms go around his neck. The touching escalates, but softly so, like linens on a clothesline moving to a breeze. Even doesn’t stop it; he can’t seem to.

* * *

_Want,_ Even thinks. _Want. Desire. Crave, yearn, whatever._

_Need._

He doesn’t need Isak. He doesn’t, he repeats to himself, _need_ him. He could get anyone; it would be easy. Could just reinstall Grindr, try Tinder, or go out instead of spending all of his evenings at home.

If he wanted to.

_I want that too._

The words play in his head, in Isak’s low, seductive voice, and Even wonders; when Isak said he understood want, what did it mean? _Understand_. Inside Isak’s fuzzy, beautiful head; the circuit cards, the cables, does he _think?_ Understand? Is there even something in there that could come close to thoughts? To feelings? Or is it just a mirroring of what Even does, what he says and how he moves and responds to Isak’s presence? Artificial?

_I learn. I self-improve._

If Isak does indeed work so expertly, with such nuance and precision that he really does want things, what does that make him? Is he someone that Even could—that he’d be allowed to want? To have? Where is the difference between them then?

_Want._

If he wants Isak, what does that make of _him?_ How does it make Even any different from all the others, justifying buying something— _someone_ —to fulfill their simple needs?

Even’s not like that. He isn’t. Simple.

But maybe Isak isn’t either.

On Friday, Isak welcomes him home inside the door with a kiss right on the mouth and strong arms around his neck. He’s in Even’s NY cap, slim jeans, and his black Wu-Tang t-shirt, cheeks flushed from the heat of the stove where he’s been cooking, and Even lets himself melt into the embrace for a second. Lets Isak put his hand on the small of his back and guide him to the table, feels Isak’s toes nudge against his now and then as he eats.

Isak doesn’t sit in his lap when they watch Godard’s _Bande à part_ after dinner, but it’s not far off—Even in one corner of the sofa and Isak in the middle, arm stretched out behind Even, thumb grazing his shoulder every now and then.

It’s right and so wrong, so close and so far off; Isak’s body heat, or whatever it is, against his side, the small glances and smiles he sends Even now and then so achingly like the _real_ thing, and Even catches himself thinking: _Who was I before this? Am I different now?_

How is this different?

It’s been some time since Isak’s frozen in mid-movement, blinking until his eyes appear to blur. So why this sense of disquiet? He’s working perfectly.

In bed later, Isak is quiet and still. Lying on his side, facing Even, eyes gleaming in the faint light from the street lamp outside. His cheek rests on the pillow, hand in front of him—they’re not touching, only almost, but close enough that Even can feel a whiff of breath tickling his nose now and then.

Usually, Isak turns himself off when he senses that Even is nearing sleep, but tonight, he hasn’t made a move to do so. Just lies there, silent and watching, breathing.

After a while, Even can feel movement at the foot of the bed, and suddenly there’s something touching the back of his foot. Isak’s toes, prodding against his ankle, then stroking up his shin, searching.

A buzz runs from every spot Isak’s toes touch him, tingles up Even’s thighs and into his stomach, and he doesn’t know how to move. Doesn’t know if it’ll stop.

It doesn’t.

“Isak,” Even says, eventually.

Isak’s toes continue their journey up to Even’s knee, down to his foot, up again. “Yes?”

“How– How do you know what I want?”

“What you want,” Isak echoes.

Even lies still. “Yes. What I want.”

Isak’s movements stop, the sole of his foot resting against Even’s calf, and he watches Even intently. His throat bobs as he swallows— _does he need to do that?_

“I see you,” Isak says, quietly. “I see you, and I react to you, and that makes me know you. Every day, I know you better, Even. Haven’t you noticed?”

Even swallows. “I have.”

“Your friend. Sonja.” Isak hasn’t moved at all, just lies there with his hand still under the pillow, watching Even with soft eyes, and Even freezes.

“What– What about her?”

“You didn’t want her here.”

Even thinks of Isak’s unnatural sing-songy voice as he undressed in front of her. The yellow rubber gloves, water pooling on the hallway floor.

“No. You’re– You’re right. I didn’t.”

“I know what you want,” Isak continues. “You want to eat when you come home because you forget lunch when you’re busy at work. You want the windows to be clear so the light falls in just right but you don’t want to clean them yourself. You want beautiful things. Movies and books and music, and you want to talk about them. With me.”

Isak’s foot is hooked behind his knee now, pulling, only a little, but still, and Even feels the rough hairs on Isak’s calf tickle against his own.

“You want me to text you when you’re bored. You want to show me pictures of things you see in the park and you want me to answer you. You want to hear me talk because you’re interested in the things I say. When you’re home you want to be close, but you don’t want it to show.”

He hears Isak shuffle against the sheets, hears the soft hoarseness in his breath.

“You want this.”

Suddenly, Even’s stomach jerks. It’s almost violent—the memory of Isak’s quick, panted words from the video. The number of times Even’s watched it, played it on repeat in his brain.

The bathroom at work. His own cock in his hand. Isak’s eyes through the lens, hooded, seductive.

“It’s fine, Even.” Isak’s whisper is as soft as it’s persuasive, and in the darkness, Even sees him move his hand under the duvet. Slowly, up to his front. “You don’t have to do anything. It’s fine.”

Even doesn’t say anything. He should stop this, lift his hand up behind Isak’s ear and turn him off. He should.

He should have done a lot of things.

“You want this,” Isak repeats, and Even is helpless.

Out of the corner of his eye, Even sees a movement under the duvet; down, up, down again. Isak’s eyes don’t leave his, his stare piercing, breathing quicker as he licks his lips.

The foot hooked around his calf jerks, and Isak makes a quick, half-choked sound in his throat. Even’s brain floods with images—his cock in Isak’s mouth, Isak’s cock in his, inside him, Isak’s hands on him, everywhere, his slender fingers, and he’s so hard that it hurts, throbbing against the mattress, a lump in his throat and pure white desire in his chest.

Lost and silent, unable to move, he watches Isak’s mouth fall open, the beautiful dip of his lip, the gapped teeth behind it, the imperfect perfection, his hand moving under the sheets–

Something warm and wet hits Even’s thigh, and he closes his eyes.

“This,” Isak whispers, breathlessly. “This is what you want. And I do too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter: masturbation, mentions of bipolar disorder, mentions of snowballing, relentlessly seductive Botsak and again, the entire dubious consent business of SEXBOT.


	3. Don't be scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And now I-” Even starts.
> 
> “Want to fuck the Bot-”
> 
> “You’re in love with-”
> 
> The men speak simultaneously, then look at each other, laughing. Even doesn’t laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please scroll down if you're worried about any squicks or triggers—no archive warnings apply, though.

A master shot. Widescreen, composition as formally precise as a Wes Anderson film. A man sitting at a restaurant table eating, another man, Even himself, sitting opposite. Man, table, man. A discussion.

“You did _what_ now?”

“I bought a bot so I could start making shorts again. And now…”

The other man, Elias, waits patiently, chewing. Perfectly centered in the frame. Reverse shot. Even, biting his fingernail.

“You’re going to make me say it.”

Offscreen, Elias’ voice confirms, “Yes.”

Another man appears, or was he always there, sitting to the left of Elias. Yousef. Because if Elias is there, Yousef is always alongside.

“And now I-” Even starts.

“Want to fuck the Bot-”

“You’re in love with-”

The men speak simultaneously, then look at each other, laughing. Even doesn’t laugh. This isn't comical.

“He says he wants me.”

His friends blink back at him, or the camera, really. Elias puts his fork down and Yousef picks it up, eating the rest of what’s on the plate. Elias tilts his head, raises his eyebrows. In the reaction shot, Even braces himself for what’s to come. It’s not Elias that speaks.

“But who is he?”

“What?”

Mikael is there too. With his usual expression of benign disbelief. Adam’s on his phone beside him, ignoring the conversation, probably texting some girl he’s trying to mack on. Mutta isn’t there; maybe he’s in Morocco. Four of them on one side of the small table, Even on the other.

“Everything you’ve just said is about you, bro?” Mikael continues. “Who is _he_? What does he like and want? Besides you, supposedly.”

“What do you mean, ‘supposedly’?” Just because Mikael doesn’t want him doesn’t mean that others couldn’t…or shouldn’t. Wait. Even’s losing the plot.

“Even. He’s a bot. You bought him and programmed him. He’s _yours_. What else could he possibly say to the person who owns him?”

Now it’s just Mikael in the center of the frame, no plate in front of him. The rest of the crew vanished.

“This isn’t a Boy Meets Bot, Bot Falls for Boy story. There’s no such thing. It’s impossible.”

The camera turns to Even in a brisk swoop and his mouth drops as it closes in. The close-up ends on his parted lips.

“Shit.”

He’s written better. Certainly shot better sequences. He doesn’t even like Wes Anderson.

Even’s alone at the restaurant, phone in hand, looking down at his contacts. It’s been a few years.

There hadn’t been a big blow-up in the end. Aside from Mikael, he’d just slowly drifted away from his friends. One at a time. Ignored their emails, texts. Until the invites stopped coming.

He could call. But like everything he does, it always feels like an impulsive decision, a mistake. To subject others to his whole mess when they're better off without him in their lives.

His phone buzzes in his hand, a photo. A fractal. A message from Isak follows soon after.

**remind me to talk to you about this later**

After that, a selfie of Isak, standing on Even’s balcony and squinting his eyes at the sun. His hair and his smile, shining.

Before he heads home, Even stops at a bookstore and, at the sales clerk's recommendation, buys _The Beauty of Fractals_. He knows he could’ve bought a digital copy but Isak says he enjoys turning the pages of an actual book.

Even suspects there’s more to it than that, though. Maybe it’s the way Isak smiles to himself as he reads, how that smile widens when he looks up to catch Even watching him. As if he knows that’s exactly what Even is doing. As if he likes him looking.

“For me?” Isak accepts the gift with a wobbly little grin. “Perfect.”

Tonight, Isak begins at one end of the couch, new book on his thigh, and inches closer while Even pretends to watch television. By the third episode, he’s sprawled across Even’s lap, like some kind of long, enormous cat, book on the couch, pages spread open in front of him, finger pressing down on a paragraph. Isak wiggles up incrementally so that eventually Even feels Isak’s erection pressing down against his own hardness and somehow, his hands are on Isak’s ass, idly stroking.

He hadn’t meant to. Somehow, they just wound up there.

It doesn’t feel like regular time. It tipped over at some point and Even missed the moment. One minute, they were sitting in his living room, reading and watching television in silence. Now, the silence isn’t ordinary. It feels heavy, so heavy. As if they’re underwater and there’s nothing left to breathe except each other.

“What are we doing?” Even whispers.

The book falls to the floor and Isak turns his head, cheek pressed against his hands folded underneath. One hooded eye blinks at Even slowly. “This,” he breathes out and presses down harder, mouth open. His teeth. He loves Isak’s teeth.

Even moans and his hand grabs the meat of Isak’s ass at the next grind. “What do you want?”

It’s Isak’s turn to moan. The sound is unexpectedly pretty. “You.”

“How do you want me?” Even asks, one hand waking up and sliding underneath Isak’s shirt to grip him by the shoulder blade, while the other moves toward the band of Isak’s sweatpants. He’s not wearing underwear and his skin is so smooth. “What would you like?”

“Everything.” Isak rubs his face against the couch and _oh, how he’s real_. Even shakes his head to forget but stills enough for Isak to sit up suddenly, on his knees.

“Should we stop?”

We. _Yes, probably._

“I don’t know.” Even doesn’t. He’s never felt like this―so wrapped up in someone, he wants to consume them, but still willing to stop and step away if that was the best thing for them. Because he loves them.

_Oh God, he loves him. He can’t._

“Yes,” Even whispers. “Okay.”

They’re both breathing hard from doing practically nothing and the television’s still on. On the screen, two men with guns argue in Spanish. Even doesn’t even remember what show they picked. Isak grabs the remote and turns it off. Even rests his head back on the couch, watching him move. Isak takes off his t-shirt.

Even thinks Isak’s so beautiful right now, messy and flushed, looming over him on the couch. But when is he not beautiful? Isak leans forward and grips the side of Even’s neck and Even feels the pinch of his fingers like a kiss.

And a kiss is what follows. A real one. Isak’s eyes and nose and lips, turning slightly, bringing his face closer to kiss Even. So gently that Even can only think _Warm. His bottom lip, Soft. Feel._ Choppy descriptors only, like someone who has no language for the physical and can only grunt out what they’re experiencing. Isak kisses him and Even chases it when Isak tilts his head back, smiling.

“Still okay?” He raises an eyebrow and grins at Even crookedly. “Once more?”

Even nods and grabs at the same time. Once more.

The pinch at his neck again, like Isak’s keeping him in place as he licks Even’s top lip, prying him open, then inside and Even doesn’t know what he’ll ever do after this.

Kissing Isak is…amazing. Even could kiss him all day and all night. He wants to suck on his tongue, he wants to open wide. Keep still or move with him, hands everywhere. Even wants everything, every kind of kiss, even the ones that barely mean anything. Isak kissing Even. All the time, it should always be happening.

Isak laughs, like he can hear his thoughts― _can he? no_ ―and purses his lips to make his kisses smaller, tiny pecks all around Even’s mouth. Laugh, kiss, laugh, kiss. Those small kisses all along his jaw to his ear.

“Do you want to know what I want?”

Even nods and Isak’s lips brush against his cheek.

“I want your mouth,” Isak whispers and moves back. “On me. I want you to suck my cock. I think I would like that.”

There’s a certain insouciant twist to the word “like.”

It’s important, Even thinks―so aroused his brain seems to be working independently of him, sliding sideways on the couch until his back is flat on it and Isak appears even larger―to maintain eye contact. Even wants Isak to know, as he pulls his shirt over his head, wants him to read Even like a book.

Isak looks at Even’s body―his neck, chest, belly, the tented front of his sweatpants and licks his lips―and Even can’t help but wonder if he’s data to him. 0s and 1s. Before he can fall further into that thought, Isak pulls down his own sweats, just enough to free his cock and balls, and moves forward carefully on his knees. Soon his cock is hovering over Even’s face. He brushes the head on Even’s cheek.

“Open up.”

Even does and keeps his eyes to Isak, watching as Isak’s eyebrows lift and those lips part in a soft _oh_ of pleasure when Even’s lips wrap around him at last. Even has never been so eager to suck someone off that his mouth filled with saliva at the thought, and when he sucks, his mouth is so wet, he can feel his spit running down the side of his face, towards his ear. Dimly, he’s aware that he’s moaning as well, along with Isak, who pushes himself in a bit more, cheeks red and tongue peeking out of his mouth, almost frowning, like he has to get it right.

It’s so right.

“I like this.”

Even knows he does and relaxes his throat further, grabbing Isak’s ass with both hands and pushing him forward completely.

His pubic hair is pressed against Even's nose, the silky skin of his abdomen. Isak has a belly button. _Why would he have one?_

“You like this too. You like-” Isak bites his bottom lip as he stares down at Even. “…when it’s too much.”

Isak thrusts and hits the back of Even's throat roughly, pulling out to let Even cough and wipe at his eyes. Then, when Even’s composed himself, Isak grabs his head by the hair, not pulling, just firm, and opens his mouth to demonstrate what Even should do.

“Say ‘ah’,’’ he commands. Even obeys. Isak pushes back in. And out. Even’s hands slide down to Isak’s thighs and squeeze.

What Even would like most is to touch himself, because he thinks he’s close to coming. A breeze could trigger it or Isak’s lips and hands anywhere near his cock.

Isak pulls out again, looking down at him, panting. “I’m going to come soon. And I’m going to do it all over your face.”

He seems to catch something in Even’s reaction because his expression softens. “Because I want to, because I’d like to. And then I’ll clean it all up.”

Even groans and Isak takes the opportunity to push his cock past Even’s lips again, and with every jerk of his hips, Even’s hips move as well, into the air, into nothing, and Even doesn’t know what to touch. There’s so much skin but not enough, his hands grab and grab, and he’s sweating, face covered in his own saliva. His eyes sting when he closes them. Isak keeps saying his name and that. He loves that too.

They move together. Isak groans and gasps and Even wants him to come down his throat with only the pull of his swallowing milking him dry but Isak moves back and Even finds that’s also good. Because this way Even can watch Isak’s face as he comes. Pulling out slowly and spurting on Even’s tongue, his lips, cheek, on his neck and chest.

It’s hot. The semen is hot. Even swipes it off his cheek and sticks his fingers in his mouth. Hot and a tiny bit sweet, with a familiar kick. Like it's meant to be delicious.

Isak scoops some of it from Even’s chest, yanks down Even’s sweatpants, and fists his cock with a now-wet hand. It’s over fast and Isak swallows Even’s keen with his mouth when he climaxes. The noise made smaller and smaller with that kiss as Even curls around Isak like a piece of burning paper.

Time slows down some more. Isak ushers Even into the shower and Even closes his eyes as Isak lathers his hair.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Isak instructs and pours water over his head, to rinse it all away.

He’s thorough and careful. Even would worry if it weren’t for Isak’s eyes which stay on him. Green with no blue to them at all. Grounding.

Even’s in the shower with Isak. Isak and his endless showers.

“You’re okay.”

“I am?”

Isak nods once, firm, then kisses him and the hot water moves around their lips. Isak's right. He is.

In bed, Isak is hard again and Even touches him. Isak sighs against his neck. With skin so smooth, it doesn’t seem quite real. There aren’t enough lines there. Proof of life. Even pushes the thought away and closes his eyes, letting himself touch. He doesn’t get Isak off, they’re only feather-light touches, and Even falls asleep a minute or so later. A fathomless sleep of satisfaction.

* * *

Even wakes just like he fell asleep—to the heavy, soft weight of Isak covering his body. All of Isak slotted into him: Isak’s cheek squished against his chest, Isak’s shoulder jutting into his armpit, Isak’s hand curled around his shoulder. Thigh resting across Even’s belly, foot lodged behind his knee. Unmoving and warm, hair smelling of shampoo from last night’s shower, and Even probably shouldn’t be surprised that one of his hands is resting on Isak’s waist, the other around his neck.  
  
Like two pieces of a puzzle in the middle of his big bed, morning light seeping in between the almost-closed curtains.

Like any couple on a Saturday morning.

He shifts his leg, only a little, but it’s enough to have Isak’s eyelids stir. And suddenly, there it is again: that high-frequent fluttering that goes on for longer than it should. Perhaps a full ten seconds or so, and Even’s chest is suddenly tight.

Before he has time to wiggle out of Isak’s grip, however, the hand around his shoulder grabs tight, then eases, and Isak opens his eyes. Smoothly. No glitch.  
  
Only that clear-eyed, content gaze, fingers moving down Even’s shoulder to his chest, a thumb stroking his nipple in silence.

He’s hard within a second, and all he sees is Isak’s lifted chin as Even grows against his thigh.  
  
Even if Even wanted to move away, he’d be unable to; with a quick bite to his bottom lip, Isak’s head disappears under the duvet, only a few stray curls sticking out as Even feels his mouth close around his nipple.

That glistening, pink tongue.

“Good morning,” Isak says on his skin, the sound muffled by the duvet. 

If Even could wake like this every morning of his life, he would. He can’t, he won’t, because he’s human and Isak isn’t. This can’t last. He shouldn’t.

The shame whirling up in Even’s stomach, the fear of what this is, what it can become, opposed to the bliss of Isak moving down his belly with a warm wet trail of open-mouthed kisses. Isak’s breath on his belly button, his thumbs on Even’s hips circling in purposeful strokes.

The warmth under the sheets only makes him harder and doesn’t Isak need air down there? _Does he really?_ Even lifts the duvet to the side, just to be sure.  
The flush on Isak’s cheeks as he looks up doesn’t make things easier. The glitter in his eyes, the devious smile as he tilts his head to the side.

“You like this, too,” Isak says and kisses the head of Even’s cock, a quick kitten lick of his tongue and everything in Even shortcuts. All thoughts of glitches and 0s and 1s wiped out by Isak’s warm breath on his cock, the steady promise in his eyes.

Isak looks just as delighted as when he kissed his way around Even’s mouth last night, just as curiously determined. Satisfaction and tease, all at once.

He’s too lovely, too full of contrasts and nuance for Even to contain it, newly woken brain spinning with confusion and desire as Isak kisses down his length with closed lips. A challenging raise of eyebrows, and Isak keeps Even’s hips in place with his strong smooth hands, licking here and there before he looks up at Even.  
  
Unable to keep his eyes open, Even leans his head back on the pillow and feels Isak wrap his lips around him, feels the slickness of the roof of Isak’s mouth, the saliva running down his cock and cooling off with the breaths coming out of Isak’s nose.

 _Is it even spit? Where does it come from?_ And, with a soft buzzing sound, it’s as if Isak’s mouth _turns on_ and the sensation makes Even’s eyes roll right back. His legs tremble uncontrollably, and he kicks out, once.

_Holy shit._

“Shh,” Isak says, hand still around Even’s cock. “Just relax.”

The only reply Even manages is a weak nod; eyes rolling back again helplessly into his head as Isak closes his lips around the head of his cock and that tickling buzz returns.

Only a few seconds of it is enough: just like that, Even comes with his own hand on his mouth and Isak’s nose against his stomach. Falling through the mattress and into the void, with nothing to hold on to except Isak’s shoulder, Isak’s hands holding his legs apart. Embarrassingly quickly, after not more than a minute, and for a moment he wonders if Isak takes notice of such things. If he recognizes what it means.

How easy Even’s body is for him, and how he’s lost all grasp on how to control it.

Isak hums and kisses his chest on his way up, nudges his nose against Even’s until he gets it and opens his mouth. His own come is tangy, not as curiously sweet as Isak’s, another reminder Even doesn’t need, and for a second he distracts himself with wondering how it’d taste if they’d mix.

He feels Isak smile against his mouth and suck on his upper lip, a hoarse light laugh high in his throat as he rubs against Even’s hip and Even lets him, lies back and lets the white dots on the inside of his eyelids fade and his limbs get back into function before he sneaks a hand down between them.

It’s the third time Even’s had his hand around Isak’s cock, but the first time he’s actually intent on getting him off—this time there’s no question, no hesitance to it, only the solid weight and the velvety hardness of it in his palm, so lifelike and real. Even doesn’t want to think about the fact that it’s angled to the left a little, that there’s actually been a decision, a conscious choice to make Isak look that way.

_Did he choose that? Was there a box like that to tick?_

Before Even has time to dwell on it, Isak’s hand grabs his hair and pulls him out of his thoughts, and this time they’re curling into each other, Isak panting in his mouth, his shoulder shivering under Even’s hand, a satisfied sigh that could have come from either of them.

Isak leads him to the shower, again, and afterwards he sits Even down by the kitchen table. Makes him watch Isak make breakfast, a toothy, delighted smile thrown at Even over his shoulder now and then.

The coffee is strong, the eggs almost perfect. The toast just the right side of brown.

Isak was right. _He’s learning._

* * *

  
Coming to work on Monday should perhaps feel like a breath of fresh air. A sanity check, an opportunity to test his two feet on solid ground again. Instead, Even huddles behind his computer and breathes, in and out, trying not to let his gaze dwell too long on his co-workers.

It’s only been three days since he last sat here. The project files are just the same, the Post-its lining his computer screen staring at him in equally loud neon colors. The people around him chit-chatting about everything and nothing as if the whole world hasn’t turned on its axis over the weekend.

Even can pinpoint it down to the exact second. That tentative, warm brush of lips and the pinch of Isak’s fingers on his neck.

He’s replaying it over and over in his head where he sits, struck now and then with that it’s real; it happened.

He can’t imagine that it doesn’t show on the outside. That it isn’t written all over his face how he’s spent every minute of this weekend, awake or asleep, wrapped up in Isak. And the mere prospect of someone knowing about this whole…situation is enough to make him want to crawl inside some dark store room in the back of the office and never come out again.

What would they all think of him if they knew?

Would they shrug? Stare at him with ill-disguised contempt?

Or perhaps give him a knowing smile?

The thought of either makes him feel sick.

He doesn’t have coffee with the others but doesn’t work either, only sits there getting nothing done, staring at his reflection in the computer screen. It stares back at him, blank and gray. The same person as before, only that now he’s someone who wants to go home and fuck a bot that he _bought_ and that doesn’t have the least say about it, not really?

A bot that smiles at him and touches him with warm, gentle hands. That sends him _memes_ on his phone and has a laugh like no one else. A bot that reads to him in bed and says that it wants to lick Even’s face clean from his come.  
  
Because it’s fucking programmed to.

He tries to focus on the screen, on his fingers on the keyboard, the multiple takes, on choosing and cutting the best ones and placing them in the most impactful order. An intricate pattern, in his control, easy to pick apart, for him to decide.

Tries not to think about the goodbye kisses this morning. The one by the kitchen counter, the one in the shower and the one on the doorframe that almost made Even even later and–

The warmth, that sense of home, of longing and belonging, that spreads through his chest at the memory—is it even real?

_Is it?_

Or is it just as much of a construction as Isak is?

When his phone pings with a notification, he startles and turns the screen facedown. Looks around the room like he’s been caught red-handed when all he’s done is sit here like any other person with their eyes on the screen and their mind somewhere…else.

It pings again, and the thought of the bathroom stalls comes as unbidden as the prickle of shame running along his back.

When everyone’s gone to lunch, he pockets the phone and heads for the bathroom. Makes sure the stall door is locked before he swipes the screen to open the message.

He recognizes the floor tiles from the supermarket immediately, as well as Isak’s slender fingers, so distinctly different from anyone else’s. Holding a Romanesco broccoli in an awkward four-finger grip, its endless whirls spiraling down towards the floor. Nature’s perfection, numbers come to life without the slightest human assistance.

The caption: _look. isn’t it beautiful?_

After that, a happy smiley.

Even rubs the bridge of his nose and leans his head against the wall. Breathes, and thinks of Isak in the supermarket, walking along the shelves, curiously picking each produce up and examining them as if they’re all new to him.

Isak’s happy, surprised giggle when Even took him in his mouth.

Even turns off the sound and shoves the phone back into his pocket, forehead slumped against the wall as he breathes, in and out and in again.

* * *

The leaves on the trees in Vigelandsparken are all different shades of green, the sun still warm on his face; late afternoon in late August and the park looks as otherworldly as it always has. Immovable gray humans made of stone, embracing, wrapped up in each other.

As a child, he’d been oddly fascinated with these sculptures—he had no idea what they were supposed to mean, but understood that the adults thought them interesting, worthy of admiration. He’d been convinced that one day, when he got older, he’d understand them too—that, at a certain age, it’d be clear what he was expected to feel and think when watching them.

That the huge man shaking off laughing babies from his hands and feet would one day make sense to him.

He walks briskly around the pond and keeps his eyes on the monolith looming above, its shadow darker with each passing minute.

Even doesn’t live very close but he loves the park and normally, he’d have been here a number of times this summer. But, in all honesty, he can barely remember the last evening he didn’t spend at home.

Home.

The thought of getting rid of Isak _now_ is almost laughable, and still, how can they go back? Back to what Isak was, what he’s meant to be?

How is Even supposed to go home and tell Isak that _this_ isn’t going to happen anymore, repeat that it’s wrong and this time actually mean it?

On the other hand, would he be able to just…return Isak to the store? Shut him down, wrap him up in cellophane and shove him back into the box?

Let someone else—anyone else—take him home?

Something cold runs over Even’s skin at the thought, his heart shrinking.

As the sun starts dipping below the treetops, the last people trickle out of the park, the echoes of laughing teenagers down by the pond dying down. When darkness finally falls, the park is empty, save for Even, as indecisive and weak as ever.

The sculptures feel cold under Even’s hands, the polished rock hard and smooth—arms and legs and strong, pale torsos, lifelike but unmoving, their faces empty.

What if he turned Isak off and just…kept him? Silent and stowed away in the clothes cupboard?

Even in this state, Even can see how that isn’t one of his best ideas.

Ask someone to…reprogram Isak? Make him less of what makes him…Isak? Even doesn’t know what he’s grasping for, but he tries. More bot-like, perhaps. Less sharp. Without all the little features and quirks Even might or might not have given Isak when he set him up on that first night.

Would that maybe make things more bearable again?

When his teeth start chattering for the third time, he’s starting to accept the fact that he’s not going to come to a solution now, or in the next hours. Maybe not in days.

Going to sleep on the couch in his office isn’t going to solve anything either.

Not that Even isn’t used to procrastinating. But he’s starting to get really fucking cold.

* * *

The street is empty save for the odd Uber swishing by, silent apart from the creaking of the overhead street lamps swaying slightly in the wind. The windows of his apartment are dark, the curtains drawn, and he imagines Isak in bed up there, warm and soft and on his stomach, breathing heavily. The slope of his shoulders peeking out from beneath the duvet.

Good thing Even already decided to sleep on the couch.

He’s careful to open the door slowly so it doesn’t give off that screeching sound that he should have fixed long ago. Not that he knows if Isak would stir from noise like that, but the last thing Even needs right now is for him to wake up. For him to put his foot in the door and scratch the perfect surface of Even’s fragile plan.

The second he’s closed the door, there’s the clearing of a throat from behind him, and Even stops in his tracks.

He turns around slowly to see Isak standing there. Wide awake with his arms crossed, leaning on the doorway to the living room and lit up only by a small lamp on the sideboard beside the couch. His face is in shadows but the whites of his eyes are gleaming.

“Where have you been?” Isak’s voice is toneless, like a dry cough.

“I, uh,” Even starts. “I was out for a…for a walk.”

Isak straightens up, lets his arms hang down, but doesn’t move closer to Even. Just watches him with that faux-indifferent stare, and it hits Even that this is the first time he’s seen Isak being anything but happy, playful, flirty.

“A walk,” Isak repeats.

“Uh. Yeah.” Even shifts a little on his feet. He doesn’t really recognize this side of Isak, this…straightforward questioning.

It’s not like Even had a clear plan walking home, but he wasn’t exactly prepared to be confronted about it either.

“I cooked dinner for you,” Isak says, taking a small step towards Even, eyes boring into his. “You always come home for dinner.”

“I– Uh, I know.” This is usually when Even feels like a scolded child, or like a teenager whose parents aren’t angry but _disappointed_ , but some small nuance in Isak’s expression stops that line of thinking cold. Even didn’t consider that Isak would actually wonder where he was. Wait for him. _Miss him_. “I’m sorry.”

“The fractal,” Isak says, ignoring his apology, another small step towards Even who has his back to the hallway wall and nowhere to go. “The picture I sent you. You never answered.”

“I,” Even starts again.

Didn’t he have all sorts of speeches prepared for tomorrow morning, when they’d both be awake? A perfectly good explanation for why Isak would suddenly find him sleeping on the couch instead of in bed? For why they should stay like that?

_I’ve been thinking. I’ve been wrong. I’ve been unfair to you. You don’t want this. I know you can’t.  
_

_You’re not mine to keep. You shouldn’t be mine. You shouldn’t be anyone’s. You deserve better._

“You’re scared,” Isak says. “Don’t be scared. You can tell me what’s going on.”

Even tries to relax. He sighs out a breath.

“I tried to call you,” Isak continues, another step forward, a whiff of the air around him reaching Even. The scent of his shampoo. Even’s shampoo. _Their_ shampoo.

For a second, he wonders if Isak showered when he was away. If he stood there for as long as he always does. Waiting for Even to come home, open the bathroom door and join him.

That familiar heat swirls up in Even’s stomach and he tries to push it down, fists his hands at his side and swallows against it. Tries to ignore the warmth radiating from Isak as he closes in.

“My– My phone died,” Even tries, his voice thinner and more cracked than he’s used to hearing it.

Even though Isak’s slightly shorter than him, it feels like he’s towering over Even—his body blocking off the faint light from the living room, his breath so close that Even almost can taste it on his lips.

It doesn’t feel threatening. Maybe it should.

Maybe Even should just turn around, open the door, and walk back out. Forget that Isak ever existed, crawl back to Sonja with his tail between his legs and try to start over.

Try to remember who he is. Who he should be.

Remember what he told himself, what he’d decided as he leaned against the monolith, the stone cold against his back. The distinctness in the difference between the living and the others. The other.

It seemed so simple, and now there’s nothing but blurred lines and gray shadows and Isak’s beautiful, beautiful face. The warmth emanating from his body, so close, so easy for Even to lean into if he wanted.

He knows exactly how it would feel.

“You always answer when I call,” Isak says, voice lower, not accusing but not meek either. Only a simple statement. A fact.

“I know,” Even says. “I– I needed some air. That’s all.”

“Even.” Isak has come to a stop now, standing close, close, but not touching, eyes dark and shiny in the dim room. “Is there someone else you’d rather be with?”

“No!” It’s quick—maybe too quick, but honest, right from Even’s heart and out of his mouth.

Isak has to know that there’s no one Even wants more.

And that’s the very core of it all, isn’t it? The whole reason why Even has to– He _has_ to–

“Because that's okay, Even. If you have to-”

“No,” Even repeats, but slower. “No, there’s no one else. I–”

“Don’t you still want me then?” Isak asks, a hesitant tone to his voice, and Even’s heart claws at the inside of his rib cage.

“I do,” he admits weakly. A breath in the dark, his head full and empty at the same time, and he can’t think anymore.

All he can do is feel. Feel and see.

The outline of Isak’s shoulders. The dip of his lip, the stubble on it a shadow against the warm light in the background. The beauty mark on his upper lip, barely visible.

The warmth of his skin as he leans in and brushes his nose against Even’s cheek.

“You want me,” Isak whispers, and Even is just as helpless as ever.

He leans into Isak, into his warm skin, the fuzz on his cheek soft, so soft against Even’s nose, and it feels exactly as marvelous as Even knew it would. “Yes.”

This is who he is. He is someone who wants someone, someone who makes him feel good. Who takes care of him. Someone who misses him when he’s gone, who waits for him to come home.

“It’s me you want,” Isak breathes, and it sounds like reassurance. A promise.

An outstretched hand for Even to take.

Stop thinking. _Feel._

“Yes,” he repeats, “You. So much,” and buries his forehead into the junction between Isak’s neck and shoulder. The angle is off, his own neck stretched, but it doesn’t matter.

Isak smells so sweet.

“Yes,” he says again, dumbly, into Isak’s t-shirt. One of Even’s own. Or it was. Maybe it is still. It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t.

“Because you’re mine,” Isak breathes, and perhaps Even should point out that it’s technically the other way around, but at this point, he’s beyond caring.

How could he care when Isak slips his fingers underneath his jean jacket and up under his shirt, and his other hand grabs Even’s shoulder and squeezes it, hard.  
Another time, with someone else, Isak’s grip could have felt suffocating. Wrong.

With him, it feels right. Real.

_His._

“Okay,” Even says to Isak’s collarbone, and he’s hard, mindlessly hard, melting into Isak like it’s all he’s ever done.

Isak’s hand slides up to Even’s neck, holding him there, and he kisses him with a bracing firmness—a declaration. He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, turns it syrupy-slow. Even opens his eyes to find Isak’s are already on him. That disaffected blankness from before replaced by a look that makes Even dizzy.

“You want me,” Isak says, kissing him again with those eyes fixed on his. Even nods.

A pinch at his neck and also his nipple, and Even whimpers into Isak’s mouth.

His jacket comes off. His shirt. Isak pulls him by the hand, past the couch Even won’t be sleeping on, to the bedroom, where he shoves him down on the bed. Even tries to sit up, untie his sneakers, but Isak pushes him again and unzips his jeans, pulls them and his underwear down past his calves but doesn’t take them off all the way.

He’s too lost to what’s happening to be cold and Isak stands over him, eyes moving from his face, down his neck and chest, abdomen, cock, thighs. His eyes keep Even warm. He’s figuring him out. It’s all too hot.

“You want me to fuck you.”

 _Fuck yes._ Even closes his eyes. “Yes.”

“I’m going to.”

Isak straddles him, still dressed himself, and kisses Even, tongue snaking out down his chin, neck, earlobe. A hint of teeth and sugar. He pulls his t-shirt over his head, leans until they’re cheek to cheek, his voice right by Even’s ear, hoarse and low. “I’m going to fuck you.”

The words don’t quite work. Rather, the words don’t sound like they should. They sound and feel tender, like getting fucked is love and care, and in Isak’s hands it certainly is. He is careful and caring and Even holds his arms over his head, by the elbows, while Isak’s hands and mouth take care of him. Isak’s body, his musculature―beautiful and fine. The soft blonde tuft of armpit hair that Even wants to breathe in, because all of him is miraculous and surprising. How could he ever want anything else but this?

Even can’t spread his legs as wide as he’d like, his jeans keep him in place and Isak doesn’t seem to care, he’s already lubing up his fingers. He circles Even’s rim with two fingers and stretches alongside of him in one languid movement, his other hand slipping into Even’s hair to hold him there.

“What do you think, Even? Should I start with two right away?” His voice raspy and reasonable. “Or just one?” And with that he pushes in slowly and Even’s mouth drops open, he doesn’t know whether to breathe in or out. Had Even given him an answer? He must have.

Isak doesn’t pull out right away, he crooks his finger a bit and presses. Is that- His finger. It’s vibrating. Even moans.

He pulls out his finger. “Faster?” and pushes back in and out, pistoning and somehow, _whirring_ , his aim fucking perfect. “You like that. I’ll remember.”

Even can’t get close enough to Isak, he’s too far from him. Only Isak’s fingers and his voice keep him together. Without them, he’d fall apart.

How fast is Isak going? Is it so fast, it’s a blur? Even doesn’t know, can’t see, or care that it’s not natural. It feels too good.

“Should I slow down?” Isak does with a tiny, crooked smile, and pulls out so slowly, rubbing the pad of his now-still finger against him, which is nothing, too little of nothing, Even begs. So Isak pushes back in. Slower still.

This goes on until Even can’t keep his eyes open from the feeling of it.

“You like it slow. How about more?”

He pushes in with two vibrating fingers and Even sobs a little. Abruptly, the muted blender-like noise stops.

“Shhhh, you’re okay, baby. I’m fucking you. Can you hear it?” Isak speeds up a little and yes, Even can hear it, the slick squelch of his fingers. Only that. “Do you want me to suck the tip of your cock too?”

Isak’s voice is right by Even’s ear and Even angles his face towards its hoarse, warm sound. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll do that.”

He does and Even doesn’t know how he hasn’t come, because Isak’s fingers are maddeningly slow but exact. True to his word, he only sucks the head of Even’s cock but the limitation is a gift. The suction, the pressure, his tongue. Concentrated and focused.

This time, Even is ready when he hears the _click_ —but the buzzing sensation of Isak’s mouth turning on still makes his hips jerk up beyond his control.

There’s no ignoring the fact that he’s getting fucked by a machine. The higher he goes however, the further away he gets from caring.

Isak stops, squeezing Even at the base and Even gasps like a fish on dry land, realizing he was closer to coming than he’d realized.

“Even, let go of your arms. Put your hands in my hair. Hold my head. Move it at the speed you want to fuck my face.”

Isak’s eyes are half-lidded, mouth hanging open. Those pretty, pretty lips curling upwards at the corner. His hair is soft in Even’s hand, and there’s stubble at his jaw, glinting gold even in the low lamplight. He’s so beautiful. Taking control by giving himself over. Even doesn’t fuck Isak’s mouth after all; he strokes it, his cheekbones, his earlobes and Isak _hmmms_ around his cockhead like he loves it. Like he loves him. There’s that buzz again, and his cock feels like it’s being kissed by a thousand loving bees. It’s shockingly good and just as terrifying. Even shuts his eyes as hard as he can and stills his hips. He doesn’t recognize the sounds he’s making.

Isak stops again.

“Even.”

Isak’s lips are slick with saliva. A long, slack line of it hanging from the corner of his mouth to the head of Even’s cock. For all Even knows it could be spun sugar. Isak sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, staring down at Even once more, and pulls open the button fly of his jeans, the line of buttons all giving open at the tug. And the sound of their give is as sweet as everything else Isak does.

“I want to fold you in half and never stop talking. I’ll fill you up with my cock and my voice. They’re both yours, you understand? All of me is yours.”

Somehow, that’s sweet too.

“But I’m not going to.”

Even swallows, shaking his head. “Please-”

“I want to be closer than that.”

Isak slicks up his cock, but doesn't take off his jeans. They sit, unzipped and wiggled down just past his hips. Even’s legs still can’t open very far. Isak slots himself in between them anyway, and slowly, slowly, with a lick of his lips, pushes inside.

It’s a tight fit.

Every one of Even’s thoughts flattens out and dissolves. There’s only sensation and Isak. His mouth open and hot, the feel of his jeans, rough against Even’s thighs as Isak pulls out slowly.

“Even, you want me.”

He grinds back in and punches a helpless sound from Even. It feels like Isak’s exactly where he should be.

“Only you.”

“Yes,” Isak confirms, nuzzling against Even’s nose. “And I-”

Isak fills him up exquisitely. They breathe together, inhaling and exhaling. The sound cascades and Isak shifts, finding a rhythm that builds into something merciless and so fucking good.

“I love you.”

It’s embarrassing. Isak whispers that and less than a minute later, Even comes. Without even thinking about it or concentrating. Without him even moving. There’s no snap of Even’s hips, or exacting press back, it happens entirely without him and Isak takes his hands and holds them tight, fingers threaded together, palm to palm. Says it over and over again. _I love you_ , in that dry, crushed voice, fucking into Even until his cock jerks between their bodies and he shoots, untouched, at the same tempo. Even can’t stop coming and it makes no sense. It’s like he’s experiencing one climax on top of another. _I love you_. The sensation skirts toward painful in how the pleasure stretches out and widens. _I love you_ , Isak says again, nearly slurring at Even’s cheek and Even says it back because it’s true. And then, Isak’s coming too. Kissing Even like he's everything and murmuring those three words, over and over again. Taking him over.

Even doesn’t remember what happens after, the world goes inky black. Spreads out like a spill until he’s covered in that darkness and falling into a beautiful, unworried sleep. He wakes up in his own bed, all cleaned up―held firmly by Isak, who loves him. The apartment is blue-dawn cool but they are warm, and he.

He loves Isak back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter: Please mind the rating, this is where the fic starts earning it. And, like before—the entire dubious consent business of SEXBOT.


	4. Let's give it everything we got

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the time in a love affair where one asks their lover about their family. _Tell me about your parents._ It’s a soft precursor to _Be mine. Be my family._
> 
> “Who made you?” Even whispers.
> 
> Isak flutters his eyes, for a beat too long, waking. He gazes at Even. "Are we going inside?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please scroll down if you're worried about any squicks or triggers—no archive warnings apply, though.

Tuesday is better. Half of Even’s mind is still back at the apartment, but he focuses on his work at least. Completes several tasks and hits the check mark on his to-do list. At lunch, he rewards himself by opening up Isak’s texts. Reads Isak’s words.

**isn’t it beautiful?**

He replies, days later, head clearer:

**You, you’re beautiful.**

A moment later, a reply in the form of a photo. A toothy selfie on the balcony, the sun making Isak squint.

And Even laughs. Loud enough to startle the pigeons, who flap away en masse over the square. Clearing the way as he strides off for home.

Isak puts down his green notebook and doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to see him. He laughs, licks his lips and presses them together like he’s trying to hold back a smile. His eyes gleam as he lifts his chin up and asks, “Did you miss me?”

“I did,” Even says and smiles back, because this too is true. “I missed you.”

“Good.” Isak’s lips stretch until they give, a delighted grin, and he loops his arms around Even’s neck. “Did you eat already?”

“No,” he says, and wants to laugh, absurdly, at how lovely Isak looks. How the bright summer sun falling in through the windows makes him glow.

“Good,” Isak repeats, and gives him a lopsided smile, like a secret. “I made you lunch. Come.”

Isak walks him into the kitchen, stepping over the threshold and maneuvering them to the tall cupboard without glancing backwards.

As if he knows every floorboard, every little corner of the apartment so well already that he doesn’t have to look. Just like he seems to know every corner of Even’s mind, how he’s able to read him so well that it could be scary.

It _should_ be scary, perhaps. Has been, in the past, with others. But somehow it doesn’t make Even feel monitored. Only seen.

Like now, when Isak takes Even’s face between his hands and studies him. Tilts Even’s head to the side with slender fingers before he slips his tongue into his mouth and loops his leg around the back of Even’s thighs.

“I like it when you come home to me.” A low, seductive whisper, and Even kisses him back, presses him against the cupboard without second thought.

He didn’t have any plan in particular walking home, nothing on his mind but Isak and how he wanted to see him, kiss him, feel his presence for a bit before his two o’clock meeting. That irresistible, addictive sense of belonging. Isak, who waits for him, who misses him when he's gone and happy to see him when he returns.

Isak’s fingers trace the waistline of his jeans, dip down on warm skin that’s a little sweaty from the brisk walk home. The press of his fingertips pull Even in, and he’s hard against Isak’s thigh from just the proximity of him. That clean, soapy scent bringing back memories of last night.

Isak’s fingers. His cock. Isak’s hot, sweet come inside of him.

“I like it when you want me,” Isak says, as if Even’s thoughts somehow are transferred directly to him.

It happens so fast that Even barely has time to blink: the button of his jeans is opened so that suddenly Even stands with his ass exposed. Isak’s foot hooks around the jeans hanging around Even’s thighs, pulling them down to his feet so that they pool there. A small, amused laugh escapes Isak when Even tries to wriggle out of them and almost trips. Isak turns him around, makes him put his hands on the table for support and bends down to help him step out of his jeans.

A swift kiss to the back of Even’s thigh, and it tickles all the way up to his neck.

He can’t get enough.

“Lie down,” Isak says and strokes his hip, and Even complies, plants his upper body across the tabletop and lets Isak spread his legs. Lets him kiss the small of his back, lets him put his warm, slender hands on his ass and pull it apart.

When Isak kisses his way down Even’s crack and licks over his hole, Even’s first thought is that he hasn’t washed since early this morning, that he’s probably sweaty and gross. It makes him want to recoil before he remembers that Isak probably doesn’t care. That he doesn’t even notice. _Does he?_

He pushes the thought down and focuses on the sensation of Isak’s mouth instead—of how the first tentative licks warm his skin, loosen it and makes him want to break apart into a million pieces only so Isak can piece them together again. Of how Isak’s tongue pushes gently at him, nudges until Even gives and Isak slips inside completely, makes Even flatten out on the table and groan into his own hand.

It’s beyond him how something can feel like this, gentle but still unyielding. The sensation making Even close his eyes and then open them again in surprise as hears that now-familiar click, and yes—there it is. Isak's tongue. It vibrates, too. 

Like his fingers did, but more—through Even’s whole body so strongly, it doesn't feel real. Even gasps, grabs on to the edge of the table and tries to remember how to breathe. 

And then, suddenly, the vibrations disappear and Isak’s on top of him. Covering Even with his upper body, kissing the back of his neck. The buzzing is gone but the sensation lingers, throughout his limbs. Like he could come from this alone. 

“Are you ready, baby?” Isak whispers, and it floods Even’s chest with warmth as well as an ache. An acute need to have Isak in him again, replace the void he left behind.

“Yes. Isak, please–”

“Shh,” Isak says, and Even spreads his legs further, feels Isak’s cock nudge at his entrance. The promise of it. “I’ll take care of you.”

Even has no idea where Isak even got the lube from, or when he had time to ready himself—but he doesn’t care. Only gives in to the pressure of Isak sliding inside him again, filling him up and setting him right.

For a second Even almost expects his cock to vibrate too. He barely dares to imagine what it would feel like though, because this is more than enough. 

Isak’s hands, firm on his upper arms, Isak’s breath warm on his ear. Hoarse, sweet exhales that feel like caresses. An exhilarating contrast to how he stretches Even out, from the slight discomfort lingering from last night.

Then, Isak pulls out and pushes in again, and everything else disappears.

Just like yesterday, it doesn’t fully make sense—how Isak can fuck him so sloppily and yet so precisely. Hitting Even just right while he’s _everywhere_ , reaching places inside Even he hardly knew existed and at the same time, rubbing over that spot that makes Even’s legs go numb and little white dots appear on the inside of his eyelids. 

For every slow thrust, Isak kisses the back of his neck, keeps him pinned to the table with his long, strong upper body. It feels so dirty, getting fucked like this on the kitchen table in broad daylight, from zero to one hundred in a minute, but also so safe. Loving, and Even lifts his ass as much as he can and pushes back. He wants Isak as far inside as he can come, and isn’t even surprised when the sensation of Isak in him doesn’t change despite the slight adjustment of position.

“You love this,” Isak whispers, his tone pleased and matter-of-fact.

Even does, and even more so when Isak rubs his nose into Even's hairline and pushes in deeper, harder. Languid and precise and more important than anything.  
  
Even tries to turn his face up and kiss him, gets a light, tickling kiss on the back of his jaw instead and feels one of Isak’s hands disappear from his arm.

Isak’s fingers wrap around Even’s cock before he knows it, a grip that feels decisive, set to a goal despite how gentle it is.

 _I do. I love this, I love you_ , Even thinks, but before he can say it, Isak twists his wrist and everything goes blank. Quiet and deafening all at once, and Even comes with Isak’s hoarse, short breaths in his ear, blending with his own moans and the creaking of the table beneath them.

Again, it’s over too quickly, like he should have been able to hold back longer, but fuck. It’s too good and not enough, and Even wants to do it again, and again. He could have Isak fuck him like this every minute of every day without tiring of it. Ever.

_You shouldn’t you shouldn’t you shouldn’t_

Even opens his eyes. Sees the sunlight fall onto the kitchen floor in front of him, the countertop, sparkly clean and empty.

_But I did._

Isak is still heavy on top of him, still inside him, moving his hips minutely as if to prolong Even’s orgasm as long as possible.

“Isak.” Even pushes back a little, the oversensitive feeling in his ass discomforting but exhilarating. “Did you come?”

He doesn’t know why he asks, doesn’t even know if it matters to Isak, but it seems important somehow. He wants Isak to feel this too, if he can. This warmth, leaking out into his limbs like liquid happiness.

“Not yet.” Isak kisses the back of his shoulder. “But you want me to.”

Even nods against the table, feels Isak smile into his shoulder, lips curling on his skin as he only pushes in lightly, two, three times, and huffs out a breathless, delighted laugh.

And somehow, that’s all it takes. Isak holds him and holds him and burrows his nose in Even’s neck, biting his jaw slightly and coming so that Even swears he can feel it inside.

Wet warmth trickles down his skin as Isak pulls out and wraps Even in his arms, pecks one of his cheeks while his palm caresses the other.

“You’re so beautiful,” Isak whispers, in that dry, musical voice of his, and Even leans his head back on Isak’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

Even twists in Isak’s arms and sees wide pupils zooming in on him, bottomless. Isak’s barely-tanned skin, the golden stubble on his cheeks. The dip in his chin.

He’s so lovely that Even doesn’t know where to place it. Doesn’t know where to look.

“You should get back to work,” Isak says with a cock of his head. “Wait.”

He leans over to the side, gets a towel and cleans Even up while running the tip of his nose along his neck.

“I like coming home to you too,” Even mumbles, and Isak kisses his jaw before he straightens up and flattens Even’s shirt out with his palm.

“Good.” Isak smiles and reaches out to the fridge. He leans a little to the side to open it and produces a sandwich, neatly wrapped in plastic with lettuce sticking out on the sides. “Here. Remember to eat it before your meeting. It’s brunost and strawberry jam.”

Even doesn’t remember telling Isak about liking brunost with strawberry jam, or even about the meeting, but well. He’ll take it. He’ll take just about anything.

“Thank you.” Even accepts the sandwich with a smile.

“You’re welcome. Now go, don’t be late.” Isak pecks his lips quickly and ushers him to the door. “Don’t forget you have therapy at four. I love you.”  
  
He says it like one would to their husband of many years. Like he’s repeated it so many times to Even that it’s their given goodbye phrase. As natural as each other’s presence.

“I love you,” Even says back, and kisses him again.

The sun is blindingly bright as he makes his way down the street towards the tram stop. Legs weak and ass a little wet and chest full of warmth and belonging and home, home, home singing in his head.

Is there such a thing as too good? Even isn’t sure. He doesn’t think so.

* * *

Autumn unspools like this and Even can’t get enough. They live inside one another and every week is a continuation of that happiness. It’s a sustained contentment and this frightens him a little. It’s the longest stretch he’s ever had and he recognizes that it’s tenuous. He’s in love with a machine. It’s an unavoidable fact. Like when Isak changed his eye color one day, and it bothered Even so much.

“Why?” Isak asked.

“Because it’s not you.”

They go back to green and Isak laughs when Even tries to kiss his eyes, his lids trembling under Even’s lips.

One Saturday morning, they take a train out to a lakeside cabin that belonged to Even's grandfather and is now shared with his cousins. It's private and quiet, particularly at this time of year. There’s a dock that Isak suns on, impervious to the cooling autumn weather, and it confuses Even. He doesn’t understand how Isak’s skin tans, how freckles form on his shoulders. How or why he sleeps with a smile on his face, his slender legs stretched out.

It’s not warm enough for a swim, but Even wishes it were, so he could dive in and climb out, and touch Isak, wet and cool from the water. Even kneels down next to him, rubs his face on Isak’s thighs, the blond hair there. Slides his nose up on Isak’s side, past every rib to the hollow of his armpit. Also hairy. He buries his face there, then kisses over to Isak’s chest, and turns to peer up at the face he loves.

This is the time in a love affair where one asks their lover about their family. _Tell me about your parents._ It’s a soft precursor to _Be mine. Be my family._

“Who made you?” Even whispers.

Isak flutters his eyes, for a beat too long, waking. He gazes at Even. “Are we going inside?”

“Yes.”

His lips in the twilight sun are the realest thing, warming Even up. After a while, he doesn’t feel the cold either.

A shower, then spaghetti for dinner. Something easy since Isak doesn’t eat.

“Would you eat with me? Can I set that up?”

Isak considers. “You could.”

“Would you like that?”

“I always like what you like,” he says with a tiny frown, as if he’s not sure.

“But if the opposite is true…would you tell me? Is this,” Even gulps. “A programming thing?”

“I don’t know.” Isak blinks at him and Even doesn't know what he's answering. “Is it that good―eating?”

 _Everything with you is good,_ Even thinks. As soon as he thinks it, he hears it as a lie. _Everything with you is better._

“No. It’s not that important.”

Isak smiles. “Then I think we shouldn't.”

“Okay.”

Even washes his own plates, glove-less, then sits back down next to Isak, slides closer on the dining table bench. Closer still on the living room sofa, as Isak reads out loud from a 1999 travel guide for Italy, casually correcting factual inconsistencies while stroking Even’s hair.

“Firenze,” Isak says, his accent precise.

Even opens his eyes. “Let’s go.”

“Si. E poi la Costiera Amalfitana.” Isak pauses, licking his lips. “But first lets go to Spain. Granada. That’s where I want to go.”

“Do you speak Spanish as well?”

“Pues claro que si, puedo hablar mas de cien idiomas,” Isak says with a hot little Castilian lisp―tongue peeking between his teeth. “And I can learn thousands more.”

The curl of Isak’s smile is just as hot from Even’s upside-down vantage point.

Isak shifts and Even resettles, lost again to the honeyed cadence of his continued reading. Instead of falling asleep, Even appreciates the view: those arched feet, his calves, the warm glow of his legs. Even adores Isak’s knees. It feels silly to even think that but movies have been made about just such a thing.

He reaches, strokes, palm sliding up from kneecap to thigh and up farther, as Even moves back and settles his head on Isak’s abdomen, lingering at the pelvic bone. He rubs a finger down Isak’s half-hard length and it hardens fully immediately. Even slips Isak’s cock out from his shorts, carefully, and puts the head in his mouth. Like he would his thumb after a burn, to make it better.

The sucking is lazy and slow, barely purposeful. Eventually, he sucks harder, rubbing the tip of his tongue in a beckoning gesture, a firm _come here_ against the dip of the glans. Isak lifts his hips up but Even pushes them back down, holds them with a spread of his hand, his fingers wide. As he works, Isak’s gasps of pleasure build and stutter as if they surprise him. It’s new, this, and pleasing. The sound spurs Even on, until the book drops on the ground with a thud. Isak moans long and low into a laugh, and Even’s mouth fills with hot, tingling come.

It’s not real but it is real and when Isak moves to return the favor, Even stops him, saying, “No, that was for you. Only you.”

* * *

They’re walking arm in arm through Bondens Market in Grünerløkka. Even’s people-watching the Birkelunden crowds, an even mix of smart young families and couples, when he hears a high, chirpy voice at his elbow.

“Hi!”

Even looks down at a beautiful young woman with long, straight blonde hair and a perfect sunny smile. She has a notepad in her hand, facing out, and the writing on it is large enough for him to read. It’s a list: _nice things to buy at the farmer’s market_. There’s only one item, _1) cheese!_ There’s a big heart drawn next to it.

“Hello,” he replies, charmed.

The woman diverts her attention to Isak who stares at her with an expression Even has never seen on his face—not quite disdain or apathy, but somewhere in that area.

“Hi, Isak!”

“Vilde,” he replies flatly.

Even’s fascinated, watching a silent movie narrative unfold between the two of them. The woman, Vilde, widens her eyes and tilts her head toward Even and Isak shrugs as if he doesn’t understand what she’s silently asking. This goes on for nearly a minute. Long enough for Even to notice that Vilde’s red headband matches the exact shade of the little berets worn by the figures on her patterned sundress.

“Isak, I haven’t seen you in so long, you look really good! I love what you’re doing with your hair! How are you?”

“Okay.”

Even laughs; he can’t help it. He’s never seen Isak be…surly. It’s cute.

“I’m Even,” he extends his hand towards her and she accepts, shaking it with a surprisingly strong grip.

“Vilde.”

“That’s Vilde,” Isak says, nearly simultaneously. He sniffs and looks upwards. “She’s an old friend.”

“Aaw, thank you, Isak.” Vilde grin gets wider. “That’s so nice of you to say.” She reaches out and gives Isak an awkward side hug. Isak rolls his eyes as she does it, but appears relaxed in her arms.

Even is dumbstruck. It’s not strange that Isak has friends, of course he does. He used to leave the apartment while Even was at work. He never told him where he went and Even, not wanting him to feel monitored, never asked where. Vilde smiles at Even, her head at a slight angle and there’s something performative about her affability. Her big, blue unblinking eyes. The just-so perfection of her appearance. That death grip.

He laughs, because of course she’s a robot. “Hello, Vilde. It’s a pleasure to meet one of Isak’s friends.”

“Thank you!” she replies with obvious delight. “Isak, I’m having a small gathering next weekend. Would love to see you there!”

“I’m busy.”

Vilde frowns, then brightens, her hand clapping over her mouth. “Oh, of course, I’m sorry. Even, you should also come.”

“He’s busy. We’re busy.” Isak blinks.

Even finds it nearly impossible not to smile. “I’m sorry, Vilde. We’re going out of town next weekend, but perhaps some other time? Isak will text you.”

“Great!”

Isak’s adorably grumpy and reticent the whole way home. Strangely, it turns Even on, and he can’t keep his hands off of him. He slides the hand at Isak’s waist under his shirt and squeezes. “Why didn’t you want to introduce me?”

“Vilde's a fucking gossip.”

Even raises his eyebrows. A robot gossip. “I see.”

“How would you introduce me?” Isak asks. “To your friends?”

Even has no friends, not anymore, but Isak’s crossed his arms in front of himself and there’s vulnerability to that gesture, so he kisses his neck and answers. “I’d say, this is Isak, my boyfriend. Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Not the last part,” Isak says.

“Okay, the last part is implied by the way I’m looking at you.”

The arms uncross, head tips back, and lips part. Isak’s beautiful with his canvas bags full of vegetables, beautiful outside their apartment while Even tries to open the door without stopping his kisses, and beautiful above him as they fuck.

“Keep looking at me,” he gasps out and Even does.

They don’t attend any parties that month and Even doesn’t push him to start. He wonders though about who would be there, who Isak’s friends are, and his thoughts infiltrate his dreams. He’s sitting at a long table and the only other guests are dolls, toys, and a stuffed mongoose. Isak is all the other way at the other end, too far away for Even to talk to. His laughter is high and clear. The plate in front of him is empty.

* * *

It’s Sunday. One of those late October nights when dark falls earlier and more quickly, but the air inside is still warm from when Isak cooked dinner, humid from their shared shower. The bedroom window is cracked open, the street silent outside. Only occasional bypassers talking, their voices echoing up the stone facades. Up to Even’s bed, their bed, where Isak lies naked on his stomach, peering at Even with one eye, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

Isak rarely turns himself off while Even is awake anymore. Not like in the beginning, before they kissed, before this love turned from unthinkable into real.  
  
Now, Isak only lies there, watching Even who strokes his back with one hand, leg slung across his thighs.

Sweat curls the hair at Isak’s temples even though the duvet is thrown to the side, a wetness Even’s tasted many times now. He knows what it’d feel like on his tongue if he’d lick it. Salt, yes, but also with that particular sweetness that everything about Isak has.

“What are you thinking?” Even whispers.

It’s something he’s gotten used to now, to use words like _think_ and _feel_ with Isak without questioning it too much. The way they’ve grown into each other now, the things Isak makes him feel—he can’t walk around thinking about it as 0s and 1s anymore. It’s too real for that. Too important.  
  
Isak blinks slowly and rubs his cheek on the pillow. “I’m thinking that you’re going to work tomorrow. And that I won’t see you all day.”

“I know. I've been thinking about that too.”

It’s true. Even never thought it could happen this fast and this hard, that he’d meet someone who wouldn’t tire of him or where he wouldn’t get scared and run away. He took last week off, just because he felt like it, just to take Isak to the park and watch his eyes narrow at the sight of the monolith. And to take him home after, lying with his head in Isak’s lap on the couch, Isak’s absentminded fingers stroking his hair while reading.

They’ve only been apart the few minutes Even goes to the bathroom, and even that doesn’t feel like breathing room or space. Only tedious necessity to be rushed through before he can get back to Isak and wrap himself around him again.

These past months have, without a doubt, been the best ones of Even’s life. He’s almost forgotten what loneliness feels like.

“Do you still want me to text you? At work?” Isak asks, the freckles on his cheeks like a blush in the warm light of the bedside lamp.

Even nods without thinking. “I do. It’s– It makes my day better. It did already. Before.”

“Will you miss me?” Isak’s tongue comes out between his lips, shiny and pink, and Even thinks of the day when he unpacked Isak. The feel of it underneath Even’s curious, thoughtless, unknowing fingers.

“Yes.” Even shuffles closer, kisses the tip of Isak’s tongue with chaste lips and marvels at how it makes him snort and smile, showing off his teeth.  
  
His little sugar cube teeth. Even’s going to miss them tomorrow too.

He kisses Isak again, sucks a bit on his lower lip. Feels himself harden from it, flush against the side of Isak’s hip, Isak’s ass smooth under his thigh.

It’s as pale as when Even first saw it, unlike the rest of him that’s still tanned despite the fact that almost a month has passed since their weekend at the cabin. Even knows better than to dwell on that it isn’t purely natural—just lets himself admire the beautiful glow on Isak’s skin. How the sun’s turned his small nipples dark and the hairs on his calves golden light.

Even the curling hairs leading down to his crotch, and Even presses against Isak, opens his mouth and kisses him deeper. Feels his pulse pick up as Isak responds, when he licks at Even’s tongue and sighs.

The fear Even had in the beginning of Isak only reciprocating because he was programmed to, of himself taking advantage, is still curled somewhere deep beneath all this, but it’s barely noticeable anymore.

How can Even doubt that Isak likes this too, now that he’s seen the delight spreading across Isak’s features as he comes? The wondrous look in his eyes when Even pulls him deeper inside and begs Isak to fuck him harder, faster, his pleased moans when Even wraps his hand around them both?

Even runs his fingers down Isak’s side, holds on to his hip and pulls him closer, grinds slowly against his thigh while kissing, kissing. It isn’t so much a means of getting off as it is being close—sharing Isak’s body heat and having his skin on his. Swallowing his sighs, keeping them inside for tomorrow. For the rest of the week and the month and year. More.

His hand cups Isak’s ass and Isak exhales into his mouth and spreads his legs a little. Lets Even’s fingers skate down his crack and to the heat further down.

The lube is pressed into his palm without him noticing that Isak’s hand had moved, the promise of the tube and Isak’s open legs making Even’s pulse race.

It’s perfect; the silky smoothness of Isak’s rim, the tight but easy slide inside, the way Isak presses up against his fingers and sighs out a breathy moan with his mouth open and his eyes closed. How he grabs on to Even’s neck with fumbling fingers and holds it tight. How his eyelids flutter while Even keeps fingering him, as if he loves it.

He loves it. He loves him. He does, and Even caresses him inside and outside, runs his other hand through Isak’s hair even though the angle is awkward, watches his lips move without sound.

“Baby,” Even whispers, borrowing Isak's endearment and making it his too. “Isak. I love you.”

Isak opens his eyes and looks at him, really looks, with big round eyes and pupils like vast endless pools that Even wants to drown in, lose himself in and never come up from.

One summer, and nothing will be the same. Nothing.

Isak smiles faintly, doesn’t say anything back, but Even sees it. He knows. It’s in the red of his cheeks, of the dreamy look on his face and his languidly waving lashes as Even curls his fingers and slowly pulls them out.

“Turn around,” Even whispers, and Isak complies and rolls onto his back, head falling back on the pillow and looking, looking. Watching Even with a wondrous stare, mouth hanging open just like in the box when Even found him, only awake and happy and _his_.

Isak’s hair looks longer when he lies like this, splayed out over the pillow as if it’s grown faster from the warm, sunny days, showing off the still lingering freckles at his temples. Summer hasn’t ended for Isak; he retains that coloring while Even has paled. It feels a little like cheating because this means Even gets to keep a piece of summer as well. Even kisses those freckles, one by one, but Isak doesn’t roll his eyes or tries to squirm away. Just wraps his arms around Even’s neck and pulls him down.

Even kisses his hair too, his jaw and his neck, licks at the little knob behind his ear and hears Isak giggle, hoarsely and happily. They’re slotted into each other from head to legs, Even’s neck bent into the crook of Isak’s, their chests and stomachs flush together, Isak’s cock hard and leaking against Even’s groin. When Even presses down on it with his own, Isak’s sighs cut off abruptly, turning into small, impatient whimpers while his hips stutter up against Even’s.

Slowly, Even lifts up, little sucking kisses all the way along Isak’s jaw, and watches his lip curl up into a smile. A smile that stretches over his teeth and makes his cheeks redden, like a secret only for Even to know.

“Come on,” Isak says, and hooks one foot up around Even’s back, pulling him in and lifting up against him, and suddenly Even feels the tip of his own cock against the tight, warm promise of Isak’s entrance. “I want you. Even.”

He loves the way Isak says his name. Always does, whether it’s teasing or laughing or as in _good morning, Even_ , but like this—breathless, sultry, and wet—

Even wants to give him everything. Wants everything from him.

He isn’t sure how it happens, but suddenly Isak’s other leg is on the back of his thighs, pulling him in and making him press inside. All the way at once, so tight and so pleasurable that Even can’t control it. He only gives in, slides in as deep as he can go. Almost as if Isak sucks him in, magnetic, unavoidable.

“Fuck.” Even’s head drops onto Isak’s shoulder and Isak holds him tighter, grabs his hair with one hand and breathes heavily into his ear.

“Please, Even.” There it is again, his name, and a shiver goes through Even’s whole body. “Fuck me like you want to.”

And Even tries, lifts up on his elbows and holds Isak’s face between his hands as he pulls out, almost all the way, and pushes back in, without effort, like it’s inevitable.

Despite Isak’s words, it’s as if Isak’s fucking him as much as the other way around—Isak’s feet on the back of his thighs, wide dark pupils honed in on Even’s face as Isak lifts his ass up and meets him, over and over.

“I love you,” Isak sighs, and it sounds so, so real, so true. “I love you.”

As much as Even might have contemplated before whether Isak can say this and truly mean it, it doesn’t matter now. Not at this moment. Even doesn’t hear anything but the raw, open honesty of Isak’s words, the tremble in his voice as Even pushes in harder, punctuates Isak’s wet exhales with slow, deep thrusts.

“Baby,” Even whispers again, kisses his open mouth, his chin, his upturned pointy nose, and somehow Isak tightens around him—not as if he comes, not in clenches or spasms, but like a solid, unrelenting pressure. It’s so tight and so much that Even gasps, surprised, Isak’s heavy-lidded stare like hypnosis, a challenge.

“Come on, Even,” Isak says. “Come inside me.”

There’s nothing Even can do to stop it—the whispered command making his stomach contract and his blood rush hot and deafening, and he comes inside Isak, aided by the movements of their hips, and distantly he registers that Isak’s coming too, hot wet liquid rubbing between their chests as they rock together.

Even doesn't want it to ever stop but it does, eventually, Isak smiling on his lips while relaxing and letting Even slip out with ease. The laugh Isak lets out as Even rolls over on his side and pulls Isak with him sounds delighted, almost relieved, pleased with his accomplishment. As if he’d been waiting for this.

Even laughs too, inexplicably, too sated to care about the mess slowly leaking onto the sheets. He only leans his head on the pillow, Isak's pillow, and breathes. Looks up at Isak who runs his fingers through Even's hair and blinks slowly, rosy blush lingering on his cheeks.

“I love you,” Isak repeats, his voice fading into darkness as Even closes his eyes. “Sleep.”

And Even sleeps.

* * *

Isak tells him it’s not an anniversary unless it’s been a year. _Annus_ meaning year, _versus_ meaning turning. “Latin, Even. Month is _mensis_. Mensiversary sounds ridiculous.”

He’s right.

It’s only been five months but Even wishes he could celebrate it anyway. Does it really need a name, this celebration of contentment? He doesn’t pick up flowers or books. There are no greeting cards for what he’s feeling. Even hopes he’s enough of a gift. Isak makes him feel like one.

By the tram there’s a flyer stapled to a post―a Bot Lovers Anonymous support group meeting in the basement of a local church every Tuesday night. He laughs to himself and takes it, knowing Isak will make him tape it to the meticulously organized inspiration wall. The premise would make a good movie. A man who is in love with his bot but the bot doesn’t love him back so he goes to a support group and winds up falling for a human…who also doesn’t love him back.

Or is that too sad?

As he walks, his shadow stretches out beside him, and he bends his knees to make it shift. Out of an open window of an apartment, someone plays the flute. Something classical and lovely until it turns into the flute riff from “Sure Shot.” He has to remember that, remember all of it, to share with Isak later.

Even knows Isak said not to set up eating functions but he likes to imagine that it's possible. Not now, but maybe in the future. He just would really like to take Isak out to dinner; watch him try a tomato for the first time or a pastry. Get drunk or smoke. Even hasn’t gotten high since that first night; it’s a treacherous business but with Isak it could work. Isak would take care of him. That’s what Isak always does.

The first thing he notices when he walks in is that Isak is rapping in the living room. Fast, absurdly fast, his English perfect, and he’s mopping as he does it.

The second thing he notices is that Isak doesn’t see him. He doesn’t notice that Even’s there, smiling. He doesn’t see Even at all.

“‘Really raw raps, risin' up rapidly, riding the rushing radioactivity, super scientifical sound search sought, silencing super fire saps that are soft.’”

And then there’s another one, another Isak. Dusting the bookshelf. He’s about a half-beat behind the other one, providing a tiny echo. The two Isaks shimmer slightly.

“‘Tales ten times talented, too tough, take that, challengers, get a tune up, universal, unique untouched, unadulterated, the raw uncut.’”

A third Isak appears, fluffing the pillows, a fourth rearranging the Post-it wall, a fifth spraying the windows. A sixth holding a vase that Even doesn’t use. All of them are rapping so fast, they overlap each other and appear to blur.

“‘Verb vice Lord victorious valid, violate vibes that are vain make 'em vanished―’”

And it stops. The words stop but the Isaks keep cleaning, the sound stays. It’s a buzzing and single line of buzzing, the Isaks themselves are buzzing. They’re still rapping but it’s too fast to be understood. The words are a solid garble and the figures themselves blur, going in and out of focus with a kind of sizzling noise.

 _Pop!_ Mopping Isak vanishes. _Pop!_ Dusting Isak gone. _Pop!_ _Pop!_ _Pop!_ Each one louder than the last, making Even jump every time.

Even’s back is to the wall and his arm is stretched out, pressed against it. He’s trying very hard not to slide down.

Only one Isak, undefined around the edges as if he’s being erased, that unearthly drone of sound widening and thinning to a single word: _Zero._ The word breaks apart into a stuttering bit of nothing, just as the image solidifies. The boy Even loves, who isn’t human but appears real. There, right there. Not real.

The vase falls. It shatters at Isak’s feet.

Isak’s eyelids flutter for one excruciating minute. Then he blinks once. Isak’s head swivels just like a doll’s, towards Even, who is now on the floor because his legs couldn’t hold him anymore.

The Bot steps toward Even and onto some glass. It crunches underneath his bare feet. He lifts his foot to stare at the enormous jagged piece sticking out of his heel and pulls it straight out. There is no expression on his beautiful face. His mouth opens and the sound distorts, wavering in pitch between high and sickeningly low. A flat, sour warble.

“Oops.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter: more explicit sex scenes + continued inherent sex robot dubcon + character steps on glass (but is unhurt).


	5. Bål

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He walks to Frogner after work, past his old high school, to Fritzners gate.
> 
> “Hello, my name is Even and I love Isak.”
> 
> “Hi, Even,” the Bot Lovers Anonymous support group chants back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please scroll down if you're worried about any squicks or triggers—no archive warnings apply, though.

Even’s been through some scary fucking shit in his life.

That time he fell from his bike when he was eight and saw his own leg lying in an awkward angle on the ground, unable to move it.

When he learnt at 13 that his parents were splitting up and they told him dad would be moving out, but that they didn’t know where to yet. How that uncertainty lingered well past the point of comfort because now he understood that there was a whole adult world his parents had kept him from. One that had nothing to do with him, that he could never touch.

His first manic episode, at 17. While it lasted, he was invincible, but after, in the hospital. All those visits from the doctors, the psychologists. Realizing what he had done. The comprehension that this was who he was now, for life—

This isn’t the same, he knows it, because this isn’t about _him_ , but about someone who isn’t even someone. Not anymore. Isak, stiff and blank-faced, mechanically pulling the shard of glass out of his foot, not a smudge of blood at the edges of the wound.

It’s the same loss of control, the same fumbling desperation, attempting to connect the dots when everything is out of reach. The same futile, silent screaming for someone to take him away, to tell him this isn’t real, that this isn’t happening.

He lies there for minutes—hours—Even doesn’t know. Staring at Isak who silently stares back at him with lifeless, indifferent eyes.

But maybe what’s most terrifying is the moment when Isak blinks, and Even realizes that it’s the first time he’s done so since Even came home. Isak blinks, and suddenly there’s recognition. Tenderness. Surprise. Everything.

“What are you doing down there, baby?” Isak asks in a tiny, hoarse voice, and Even wants the floor to swallow him. “Why are you scared? Don’t be scared.”

No answer, not a word or even a sob escapes Even as Isak sits down on his knees beside him and reaches out his hand.

“Why are you crying?” Isak runs his thumb softly, so softly over Even’s cheek, a confused crease between his eyebrows. “Even.”

Even would stand, he would run away, but Isak leans over him and wraps his arms around him, burying his nose in Even’s hair, breathing, breathing. Not oxygen. Nothing. Just the motion. So that he can look real. For Even.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Isak whispers. “It’s okay.”

And 99 times out of 100 this would make Even love him even more, would flood him with gratitude and relief, but at this moment it’s straight up horrifying.

Eventually, they get up and go to bed. Isak holds him under the duvet, kisses his neck until Even can’t take it anymore and turns in his arms, presses at Isak’s temples with tears burning behind his eyelids until Isak’s eyes fall shut and his body melts limply into the mattress.

Even calls the Dragestil guy from the kitchen, panic rising in his throat as the signal beeps and beeps into nothing, ending in only a generic female voice telling him that he’s reached the voicemail for the number.

“Hi. This is- I’m Even, and I called you before, about a faulty bot, an- An Illuminati bot. A male one. And I’m. It’s- Something’s really wrong with him, it’s much worse than before and- Please call me. Please.”

He tries to keep his voice under control, but it keeps breaking. 

Isak lies motionless on his stomach when Even creeps back into the bedroom, head turned to the side and a soft, quizzical smile on his lips. Even doesn’t want to think about if he dreams. What those dreams might be about.

* * *

He watches Haneke’s _Amour_ , then goes and hugs Isak, who has been turned off all day, curled into a comma shape in their bed. Still warm.

He goes to work and clings to his task check-boxes. His boss stops by his desk to tell him how pleased she is with his work and he smiles, thinking of Isak and his smiles. Then remembering and trying not to cry.

He looks at the flyer in his pocket.

Isak is at home, in sleep mode, peaceful.

Dragestil doesn’t call back. Even calls him again and again. He doesn’t care if he sounds like a nutjob. He talks about Isak. Who he is. What he likes. Talks until he’s cut off. Cries in the bathroom afterwards.

He walks to Frogner after work, past his old high school, to Fritzners gate.

“Hello, my name is Even and I love Isak.”

“Hi, Even,” the Bot Lovers Anonymous support group chants back.

It’s so hard to talk. He starts and stops for way too fucking long but afterward, the group leader tells him it was only seconds. Even manages to say what is most relevant. He loves Isak. Isak loves him. But Isak’s sick now and Even’s lost.

Everyone at the meeting hugs him. He goes home and embraces Isak. He turns him on. Isak blinks for a while, then settles, smiling at him as if no time has passed.

His smile changes.

“Oh no. You’re still sad.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re crying,” Isak says and he starts to cry, a single tear which Even impulsively kisses away.

“Please. I’m fine.”

Isak moves like water, filling up every empty space between them and presses his lips against his. They’re dry but Even closes his eyes.

“Go to sleep, baby.”

He closes his eyes and Even turns him off. Then checks his phone—no messages. Dials Dragestil’s number, tells him he went to a Bot Lovers Anon meeting but he’s not sure he belongs there. Even knows that Dragestil must think he’s a creep. He swears he isn’t. He just wants Isak to get better.

The next day, Even goes to work, smiles, edits, manages projects, ticks off the boxes, gets offered a promotion, leaves. He knows he’s achieved something but he feels nothing. He’s empty.

A week passes, just like this. And then he’s back at the American Lutheran Congregation. He doesn’t speak this time, but he listens. There’s a woman, Thelma, in a wheelchair. She talks about sex, what it meant to her before her accident. How important it was to have an orgasm, at least four a week. With other bodies or, if none were available, with her own hand. Sometimes both, other people’s bodies and her hand, toys. She bought a pleasure bot. For those off days when she needed a higher grade of dildo. Or a safe addition to a threesome. Even recognizes the model, the Penetrator Chris.

Then the accident happened and suddenly she was in a wheelchair. Sex became harder to come by. When it did, it required conversations, conversations she soon tired of having. She tired of people leaving. She tired of people in general. Thelma spent more and more time with her bot, whom she now calls Egil. He would fuck her and stay, not asking stupid questions. They would talk. In time, fucking became more than fucking—it felt like love. It was love. Next to her, Egil holds her hand and strokes it, smiling with those perfect white teeth. _I love him and he loves me_ , she says and the robot named Egil grins a perfect plastic smile. Even feels queasy. He throws up in the bathroom and a new guy, handsome with green-gray eyes and intense-as-hell eyebrows, hands him wet paper towels to clean his face.

“Are you okay, man?”

Even shakes his head, rinsing his mouth then drinking from his water bottle. Isak used to fill it for him. He’d done it himself that morning instead. The water is tepid and metallic-tasting. “I don’t think so.”

Eyebrows has a spliff, which he offers to Even. They walk down Bygdøy allé to the park and then sit and smoke. His name is Adrian Eskett, and he trips over the pronunciation of his last name as if he never says it out loud. When Even points out that last names defeat the purpose of an anonymous support group, Adrian goes, “Oh yeah,” like it’s no big deal. He’s nice and after smoking and talking, the eyebrows seem less combative.

“What did you think of that woman’s story?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does she have what you call…legitimate needs?”

Adrian seems serious enough, as if he’s actually asking, but Even can’t even tell anymore. He’d gotten so used to being read, he doesn’t want to guess.

“Are you trying to pick me up?” Even asks, as cold as the sudden wind.

“No, man.” To his credit, Adrian’s denial doesn’t have the usual panicky straight guy undertones. He’s relaxed, thinking. “I suppose…I hadn’t given much thought to the idea of sex as a necessity rather than a luxury. It makes total sense. When we created bots to serve our needs it was bound to come up.”

Even stares up at the sky and exhales, momentarily clouding the view.

“Isak tells me about the stars. He reads about cosmology. There was some experiment done in Antarctica that was supposed to prove the existence of parallel universes. I wouldn’t know anything about that, if it weren’t for him.” He looks at Adrian. “Is that legitimate?”

There are tears, he knows this, but Adrian doesn’t say anything about them. They keep smoking and eventually wind up talking about the most random shit. Like that singer, Astrid S. Adrian thinks she’s super hot. Even thinks she’s cute enough but prefers the other one with the high-waisted mom jeans, Sigrid.

Afterwards, they walk to Nationaltheatret station and part ways. When he gets home, Even brushes his teeth, then falls into bed and clings to Isak. Holds him tightly, wishes those green eyes would see him.

He goes to work.

He tries to eat.

He cannot eat.

On Tuesday, he’s back in Frogner.

A man speaks. His name is Magnus. He’s only ever dated bots, he says. First in high school when his acne was so bad he felt he couldn’t even talk to girls, much less date them. Then in college where he always felt he said the wrong thing and turned them off. Now he’s a grown man who has only been with bots and he’s finally fallen for a girl he met at the post office…and he’s sure she’s also a bot.

“She’s perfect.”

Even nods. This is just like his movie idea.

“Seriously, guys. She’s perfect. Beautiful, kind, forgiving, and organized…you wouldn’t believe. She’s like a cruise ship director.”

They stand around the sad little snack table during a break. Adrian side-eyes Even and he almost laughs.

“Are cruise ship directors hot, Magnus?” Adrian asks.

The man’s blue eyes narrow dreamily. “Fuck yes, those clipboards? Oof.”

Even blows on his scalding coffee. “Mmm. They know when things are going to happen.”

“Yesssss,” Magnus sighs. “They can tell you where to go. What to do. Amazing!”

Coffee cups work great as camouflage for smothered laughter, Even finds. Adrian seems to agree, his shoulders shaking. To distract himself, Even picks up a pamphlet listing the pros of human and bot relationships:

_No disease transmission_

_Sex is available any time_

_No psychological impact on the sex partner_

_Allow people to expand their sexual horizons_

_Provide people with companionship_

_Improve people's sex lives with other people_

_Allow people to experience better orgasms_

_Cheaper sex_

The coffee tastes like ashes in his mouth. Even empties it carefully into a bin and hopes no one catches him.

Today, they hear a testimonial from an American expatriate with a tiny penis. Even knows this is serious and terrible. This poor man can’t find a partner, so that leaves bots, and now he’s found The One. But he keeps saying “tiny penis” in English and Even makes the mistake of making eye contact with Adrian, running out of there before the church laughter can begin again. He hurries home, to tell Isak, and presses behind his ears. Isak smiles before he opens his eyes and Even wishes he could film this moment. Isak’s teeth; the slow, wide stretch of his lips; long lashes and green eyes; pupils like black, round mirrors. There’s nothing left to do but kiss him.

That’s all they do. For hours. Even’s lips buzz from it and Isak stops to gaze at him.

“I missed you.”

“You did?” Even nuzzles the tip of Isak’s nose with his.

“Of course I did.” Isak’s eyes gleam in the near-dark; he’s wearing that held-back smile where his upper lip covers his teeth. The one that looks tiny but that Even knows holds everything. “I always miss you when you’re not here.”

Even doesn’t ask again if he does. How can’t this be real? Even doesn’t get it. He really, really doesn’t. This isn’t cheap or tawdry. What he’s feeling could never be that.

He kisses Isak again, clings to him with an arm around his shoulders. Sucks in Isak’s upper lip and closes his eyes.

He can have this. Just now, he can.

He never tells Isak about the tiny-peened man. Instead, he kisses his way down Isak’s chest, hoists up Isak’s shirt to the armpits and rubs his face against the warm, smooth belly underneath. Squeezes his eyes shut as he buries his nose in Isak’s navel and opens his pants.

Isak lets out the same sound as he always does when Even takes him in his mouth—that part surprised, part delighted sigh. Even doesn’t know if he wants to lie like this forever, taste every square millimeter of Isak until he falls asleep, or if he wants to swallow him down all at once. Have Isak fill his every crevice until there's no room left for anything else. After a second of not thinking at all he chooses the latter—relaxes his throat and takes Isak’s cock down as far as he manages, lets it push all thoughts, all reminders of what Isak is and isn’t out of his mind. At this moment there’s only this: the silky skin on Isak’s hips under his palms, Isak’s hands gripping his hair gently while he slowly fucks Even’s mouth. Isak’s spicy-sweet come on his tongue. The way he breathes Even’s name when he climaxes, and it shouldn’t be possible, but it sounds like a prayer.

If there are tears at the corners of Even’s eyes, it's probably from the exertion. Isak doesn’t ask, however, just pulls Even up to lie beside him, and then he kisses him. Kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, hand in a safe, firm grip around Even’s cock.

Even closes his eyes as he comes, bites Isak’s lip and doesn’t think of the fact that there’s no blood to taste. He’s far too busy feeling happy.

At this moment, he really is.

They talk some, after, but Isak doesn’t ask why Even had him turned off for so long, and Even doesn’t ask if he remembers. Later, maybe. But not now.

Now, he only wants to watch Isak’s satisfied smile bloom, face turned toward Even where he lies on his stomach, cheeks flushed in the warm light of the bedside lamp. Isak’s fingers in a loosely curled fist between them on the sheet, and Even kisses his knuckles one by one, traces Isak’s eyebrow with his thumb and smiles back.

Just as sleep starts pulling at the outskirts of Even’s mind, Isak takes his hand, interlacing their fingers. “Will you wake me tomorrow before you go?”

“Do you want that?”

“Yes.” Isak blinks once, twice, then looks straight at him. “I want to wait for you to come home.”

* * *

Sleep doesn’t come. The only dream he wants to experience is there on the right side of the bed. It’s the purest dream.

He hadn’t given an answer to the promotion offer. His boss, Inger, corners him and takes him out to lunch at a place that he’d only frequent for dinner, if at all.

Even is honest with her, up to a point. He admits there’s stress at home, he feels like he might be slipping, and that she should prepare for him to be absent in the coming weeks. Inger knows about his bipolar but reiterates that Even’s ready.

_Ready._

He stays a little later to wrap up, texting Isak because he should know that Even’s only thinking of him and not to worry.

Isak doesn’t respond.

The foyer to his apartment building is full of smoke and Even follows the smell of it as it thickens with each flight of stairs, his heart hammering because he knows, he knows.

The door to his apartment is open and the firemen are there. He runs right in and one of them steps in his way, telling Even he might want to wait.

“You don’t understand, my-” Even stops to take a ragged breath. “My- My Isak is in there.”

The fireman grabs his arm before he can get past him to the living room, and points to his neighbor’s apartment. “We found him sitting on the kitchen floor. Your neighbor’s got him. He’s fine.”

Even breathes out. “Oh. Okay.”

“He put something plastic in the oven. There’s no heavy damage but it’s hard to breathe in there. You might want to find another place to stay for the night.”

The firefighter squints at him.

“Hey, it goes without saying, but you need to get your robot fixed as soon as possible. If anything like this happens again, you’ll be fined and possibly have it forcibly removed. Okay?”

His robot.

Even nods.

Mrs. Høie has Isak sitting by the open window and he looks blank, small. Even runs over and hugs him, breathing in the smoky smell of his hair.

“Even, I’m sorry.”

Even only hugs him tighter, kissing the top of his head. It’s warm, so warm.

“Are you okay?”

His hands are fine, the hairs on his arms and legs unsinged. Isak’s fine.

“Yes, I’m sorry-”

Even kisses Isak’s apologies off of his lips. He should have never left him alone, not awake, not like this.

Behind them, Mrs. Høie clears her throat. Even doesn’t even consider stepping away from Isak. He takes his hand and faces her. Her expression is mild.

“He was frightened, I think, when the firemen brought him out,” Mrs. Høie explains. “They weren’t you. He only came with me because of Ada.”

“Ada?”

“Me,” a musical voice replies and Even turns around and sees a familiar pair of green eyes. It, or rather, _she_ , is one of the Illuminati bots that he almost bought at the store this summer. Now that Even really knows Isak, their resemblance is much more obvious and striking.

She extends her hand. He shakes it.

It’s not that Ada’s an exact copy. Her top lip is fuller for one and her blonde hair is a tiny bit darker. She doesn’t have Isak’s singular teeth, hers are nearly American in their capped perfection. There’s no winsome beauty mark above her lip. She could be his sister, though; her posture is dancer-upright and her gaze is similar enough to hurt.

“Please, have a seat,” Mrs. Høie says.

He moves to the chair and Isak follows with him. Even almost has him sit on his lap, which would be ridiculous―Isak’s not small—but Even can’t bear having him too far.

“Ada cleaned my face-”

“It was sooty,” Ada explains.

Mrs. Høie smiles. “Do you know Ada, Isak?”

Isak smiles at Ada. “Yes, I helped make her.”

Even swallows. “What?”

“He said that before,” Mrs. Høie says. “And Ada agreed.”

Ada sits next to Mrs. Høie but her eyes remain on Even. “He’s malfunctioning. I ran a diagnostic but I don’t know what is causing the fault.”

“Ada is a refurbished carebot. They sell her model for other things but I was informed by my doctor that the reprogrammed models were the best carebots available on the market.”

Ada slides a cup of tea closer to Mrs. Høie who thanks her softly. She takes a sip with a trembling hand.

“I have Lupus and had a kidney transplant five years ago. My son and his family moved to Stavanger for work and I wanted to stay here. This was our compromise.”

Isak leans on Even, squeezing his hand. Mrs. Høie turns the tea cup in its saucer so that the handle lines up just so.

“I have no regrets. Ada is like the daughter I never had. I understand your situation. Knowing that someone won’t abandon you when life is hard is invaluable.”  
  
There’s nothing on Ada’s charming face to suggest she’s unhappy but Even stares hard regardless, looking for a crack in the façade. Behind her, the beige living room wall is decorated with framed pictures, all of them in the same size and matched up in neat rows. Perfectly spaced, perfectly organized, perfect.

Back in the apartment, Even opens all the windows. He makes Isak lie down on the couch while he changes their sheets to less smoky ones. Then he undresses Isak, helps him shower and brushes his teeth. Isak is fuzzy-soft and quiet. Like a sleepy child. When Even gets him into bed, Isak asks him to stay again but doesn’t ask to be left on, only apologizes. Even does too. Isak shouldn’t have been left alone.

Isak enters sleep mode and Even watches him for a few hours, then walks to the living room and slowly takes down all the Posts-its from the creativity wall and throws them in the trash. He calls Dragestil and leaves a furious five-minute message. Then calls back to apologize for another five minutes. Even asks if it would be possible to erase himself from Isak’s mind, if that would help? He doesn’t need to be with him; he just wants him well. Even ruins everything and it was probably him that caused all this, because he got high and never read the setup manual.

There’s shuffling behind him; Isak rubs his eyes and blinks at the now bare wall.

“Did the smoke-“

“No. I don’t need them.”

“But.”

“I’m not doing anything with them anyway.”

“Well, I remember them. I’ll remind you. They’re important.”

Even laughs. “No, Isak. You can’t do that for me anymore. I have to do things on my own because we-“ He can’t even talk, his throat won’t work. “Erase it, you don’t need to remember.”

Isak tilts his head a little, as if going over everything Even just did and not understanding. Then he leans in and rubs his cheek against Even’s. The soft hair of his stubble tickling.

“Come to bed, baby.”

Even doesn’t sleep again and calls out for the week.

* * *

He keeps Isak in sleep mode most of the time for the following days. Lies beside him and barely closes his eyes, only leaves his side to go to the bathroom and for the occasional sandwich. Not that he’s hungry, but.

He turns Isak on only when he can’t take it anymore. When he just needs to hear Isak’s voice or see that newly woken smile spread across his face. When Even’s chest feels so tight that he needs to pretend that it’s all going to be okay. Every time, however, Isak’s eyelids start to flutter sooner and sooner.

Today, he falls back into sleep mode after only a few minutes. His cheeks aren’t red but all of Isak is hot to the touch; feverish.

The voice message Even leaves for Dragestil after that is perhaps the most pathetic yet: only long minutes of breathing interspersed with sobbing. He’s run out of words to say.

By now, Even doesn’t expect he’ll ever call him back. He probably doesn’t even listen to the messages. Even wouldn’t either, not at this point.

He doesn’t mean to go to the next Bot Lovers Anonynous meeting, doesn’t want to leave Isak home alone even when turned off, but ultimately it’s Isak who talks him into it, during a short stretch of wakefulness. _It’s good to have friends_ , Isak says, with a sleepy smile.

Even can’t argue with that.

And, sitting here at the meeting in the circle of, maybe not _friends_ exactly, but people who he can talk to—he realizes that he’d needed it.

He asks Adrian and Magnus to go for coffee afterwards. There’s a café in Gimleveien that’s open late, and they make their way inside, Magnus slapping Adrian on the back and laughing about something ridiculous as if they’ve known each other for years.

Even fidgets, willing himself to remain present, but keeps thinking of home.

The café is empty save for them and a couple sitting by the window. A middle-aged man in jeans and a mismatched outfit, greasy hair slicked back, his face flushed. Opposite him, a much younger woman with angled eyebrows and a pleasant smile, soft, shiny blonde hair parted in the middle and falling to her shoulders. His hand is on her thigh, climbing upwards, but she doesn’t recoil, only tilts her head to the side and keeps smiling, unmoved.

It makes Even uncomfortable, but he doesn’t want to cause a scene. He directs his attention to the cashier instead, gets his coffee and sits down with Magnus and Adrian at a table at the other side of the room.

“So how’s it going, man?”

Even sighs, staring into his coffee cup. “Not good. Isak is in bad shape. And, I’m not much better to be honest.” He takes a deep breath. “I have bipolar disorder.”

“Oh, word?” Magnus is messily eating a berlinerbolle, sugar and jam on his cheek like a sticky-sweet injury. “My mom’s bipolar. Are you taking your meds? Keeping to your sleep schedule? Talking to your therapist?”

He rattles off the questions the way one might list the specs on a computer. Next to him, Adrian eyes Even seriously and nods, chewing with his mouth closed at least.

“One of those,” Even answers, after a pause. “I’ve been taking my meds.”

Magnus grabs a napkin and wipes at his face. “That’s a start.”

“Sleep is difficult, what with everything…and Isak used to remind me of my appointments. I don’t want him to worry about that anymore. He’s not an iPhone.”

“Just call your doctor’s office, man. It’ll take two minutes at most. I guarantee that putting it off and worrying has taken up more time than this actual call, which they expect to receive anyway. This is what clinicians do. They meet with their patients and help them.”

“You’re right, Magnus.”

“I know I am,” Magnus smiles, more sage than fool for once. “Let Isak chill. You know how to take care of yourself.”

Adrian clears his throat, picking up a spoon. “I meant to ask you, man. Your Bot, why did you name it Isak?” He stirs his coffee and Even zones out listening to the silver hit the sides of the cup.

“Even?” Magnus says.

“Yeah, sorry. Uh, I didn’t.” Even takes a careful sip and licks his lips. “Isak did. He named himself.”

Magnus laughs. “That’s weird. What? I didn’t know bots could do that.”

“Neither did I,” Adrian says, leaning in. “That’s unusual. Especially for a pleasure bot.”

“He’s singular that way, I guess.” Even shrugs. “I have nothing to compare it to.”

Adrian stirs again, his voice pitched at an even tone. “Why is Isak alone tonight, if he’s not well?”

“He asked me to go out and see people.”

“So you did what he asked you to do?”

Even looks up sharply at the question. “Yes, I always listen to him.”

“Does he know he’s a bot? Did he give you his serial number or product number?”

“Yes. Why d-”

Magnus laughs suddenly and both men startle at the sound. He grins and points at Adrian.

“Dude, I just realized. You’ve never spoken at meeting. I don’t even know what your deal is? What’s your bot story?”

Across the room, there’s the sound of plates and cutlery hitting the ground. It’s the man with the young woman; she’s on her knees picking up the shards with her bare hands. Even stands up as a café worker hurries over and the man ushers him away.

“Leave it, the bot bitch will get it. This is the only thing she’s good for.”

By nature, Even is not a violent person. He’s always been more of a lover than a fighter. Which is why he’s surprised to find himself getting pulled off the middle-aged man who is sprawled out on the floor, looking shaken. Also, Even is shouting, unaware of what he’s saying, his throat burning. He’s not manic, he’s not.

The bot doesn’t belong to the man as it turns out. He’s a botsitter, hired to take the bot out for a night off and that makes his behavior illegal. The police are called and the man is given a fine. Eventually, a young couple arrives with a baby in tow. Throughout it all, the bot smiles placidly as if nothing happened. She is sweet-faced and blank, nothing like Isak. Even when Isak sleeps, his face changes and Even sees stories in each expression.

“Man, imagine if he’d been her owner? Then there’s nothing we could have done.”

Even shivers. He can’t stop.

Magnus pats him on the back. “Don’t worry, between the police, the fine, and you telling him that you would find out where he lived and haunt him if he ever went near another bot, I don’t think he’s going to any time soon.”

“I’m…not manic. I know I said. Before.”

“I know.” Magnus smiles. “You moved faster than us, that’s all. We had your back.”

For the first time, Even notices that Adrian is nowhere in sight. “Where did―”

“Oh, as soon as the cops showed up, he was like, ‘Fuck da police,’ and took off. What do you think his deal is? I like Adrian a lot but he’s super mysterious. Do you think he’s like…an agent for NIS or something?”

Even doesn’t have to wait too long to find out.

As he approaches his building, Adrian and his eyebrows are waiting outside. Adrian nods at Even’s approach.

“You’re cool.”

“Thanks?”

“Sorry, I had to be sure. But after what just happened at the café-” The brows furrow as he reaches out his hand. “My name isn’t Adrian, it’s Jonas Vasquez. You’ve been calling me.”

Despite everything, somehow Even’s not surprised. “Dragestil.”

Jonas nods. “I’ll help you if I can with Isak.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not a repair man, I’m a teacher. But before that I used to design bots. I started Illuminati with a couple of friends when I was in college. We hoped to create carebots that would actually care for their charges.”

Even opens the door slowly, taking in what Jonas is saying. He’s so tired.

“We sold Illuminati to get a mass manufacturing deal. It was a bad call, as it turns out. We lost control of our bots and the Ada was rebranded, reprogrammed, and sold as a so-called pleasure model.”

They go up the stairs, Jonas following and speaking with a kind of measured reluctance. Even can’t read into it; he doesn’t understand how Isak fits into all of this.  
  
He stops at the top of the stairs. “Why did you change your mind about Isak being an Illuminati bot if no male bots were designed?”

“His name.” Jonas doesn’t elaborate past that.

The apartment is a mess and Even doesn’t bother apologizing. He kicks the clutter out of the way and leads Jonas through the living room. “Isak’s in the bedroom. Let me wake him up and explain so he knows what’s happening.”

“Actually, may I? I think it’ll be fine.”

In the bedroom, which is the only room Even’s kept spotless, Isak sleeps. Next to him, Even hears Jonas take in a quick breath.

“So, he’s an Illuminati bot, right?”

Jonas steps forward, closer to Isak. He stares at Isak’s left calf, peering at a small scar there and laughs the way a person might at seeing something unexpected.

“Yeah, he’s Illuminati alright.”

He kneels down on the side of the bed and lifts his hands toward Isak’s temples, holding them there for a bit, hesitating.

“Go ahead.”

Jonas swallows and presses. Isak’s eyes flutter open and Even steels himself for his terrified reaction.

Which he doesn’t get.

Isak smiles sleepily. Not the smile he’d give Even, not that one. It’s relaxed and a little silly. “Hey, broooo.”

Jonas sighs, “Oh, Isak.”

Isak sits up and reaches for Jonas with his right hand, like a high five but then grasps tightly, pulling Jonas in for a hug. Isak lifts his chin in Even’s direction.

“You met Even? He’s, ah, a boy. A boy I have feelings for.”

Even doesn’t know Jonas at all, he’s not even sure if he’s the same person he’s been talking to the past few weeks. Particularly if their entire association was some kind of fact-finding test mission to see if Even was worthy. There’s no misunderstanding his small smile, though.

“Yeah, I kind of figured that out.”

“Are you surprised?”

“A little. But only because you didn’t tell me.” Jonas helps Isak sit up. “Is this how you were going to tell me?”

“Maybe.”

Jonas shakes his head and laughs. He takes out a small tool kit and unzips it, laying out several small tools, some as thin as toothpicks. After pressing the top of Isak’s skull in three seemingly specific places, there’s a whir and a pop, and a square-shaped opening is revealed. Even covers his own mouth with his hand.  
  
“Isak, I’m going to ask you some questions. Ready?”

“Begin.”

“What was the big thing that happened when we went to Bergen for the first time?”

“You broke your arm trying to do a 360 forward flip.”

“Yes, I did.” Jonas peers inside Isak, at his circuitry. Prodding it with what looks like a stylus. “What was Ada’s first word?”

“ _Bål_.”

“When was the last time we spoke?”

“At Mahdi’s for Syttende Mai in 2017. We fought.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jonas stops tinkering. “Me too. What’s your middle name?”

Isak gives him a withering look. “I don’t have one.”

“What are you, Isak?”

“That’s a stupid question, Jonas. If you’re asking, then you know. Game over.”

“Yes.” Jonas snorts. “Game over. How are you, Isak?”

“I’m fine.” Isak’s eye twitches.

“He’s lying,” Even breathes out.

Jonas looks over his shoulder. “I know. He’s a terrible liar.”

Even doesn’t understand how Jonas would know that.

“Jonas.”

“Yes, Isak?”

“I’m sleepy. Can I sleep?”

“Yes.”

“And Jonas? Be nice to Even. He’s frightened.”

Jonas presses some other parts of Isak’s skull and, with a flutter of lashes, Isak goes back into sleep mode.

“Why don’t you go into the living room for a bit? Let me do a closer examination.”

The pillow on the bed has one of Even’s t-shirts as a pillowcase; Isak must have done it. When, he doesn’t know. Even can’t do this. He has to do this. He trudges out to the living room and sits down on the couch, falling asleep upright.

He dreams that he’s running through Oslo, his heart hammering in his chest. He doesn’t know what his destination is, only that it’s imperative to get there before he’s too late. His body starts to shake and he wakes up with a start, Jonas’s hand at his shoulder.

“Hey, we need to talk.”

Even sits up in alarm. “Is he, is everything o-”

“He’s fine. I shut him down.” Jonas’s gaze is solemn. “How technical do you want me to be?”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“What if the only way for him to be okay is to erase all of his data, restore his original settings? Because I think that’s the likeliest solution.”

“I prepared for that,” Even says, keeping his voice steady. “I’d be fine as long as he’s okay.”

“He’s a bot, Even. He’s not human. He cannot die. He will not miss you.”

“I know that.” Even’s never felt so small. “I know that,” he repeats. “But what I feel is real and I believe him when he says it’s real.”

Jonas sighs. “His programming is very intricate. The issue, I think, is that there are at least three warring protocols at work. It’s possible I can save him but then what?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s likely to happen all over again.”

At some point, Even started looking down at the ground instead of Jonas’s face. He can’t stop his own lips from quivering, they wobble around independently of him. Even covers them with his hand in an attempt to still their movement.

“Okay, here’s what I think we should do.” Jonas pats him on the shoulder. “I can remove a few things, and that might make him glitch-free for a week before he needs to be turned off again. It’s a temporary fix. But it will give you some time to say goodbye, if that’s what it’s got to be. At the end of the week, I will take him and try my best at my workstation at home.”

Even shuts his eyes. “Yes.”

“And, uh-” Jonas pauses, squeezing his clasped hands in front of him. “I’m going to give you the email address of my old design partner at Illuminati. Given that I may not be able to figure this out, they might be able to help. Also…it’s important they know. Email them as soon as possible, explain, see what they say. Tell them Jonas checked. That’s it, ‘Jonas checked,’ got it? We haven’t spoken in a long time but they’ll understand.”

Jonas hands him a Post-it with an email address on it: _el_wright@gmail.com_. Even recognizes the Post-its as one from the wall. He must have missed it when he threw them all out. The other side has Isak’s handwriting, one of Even’s discarded story ideas. It says: _a boy sitting by a café window_.

* * *

One week. Seven days. Twenty-four times seven hours.

Isak would give off the total in a blink if he was awake. If he was well. But he isn’t, and Even is so, so tired and doesn’t know how to count.

One week, and Even’s going to join Isak on the bed in just a few minutes. Maybe, if he sleeps now, he’ll manage to stay awake longer when Isak will be okay again, after Jonas has come by tomorrow to provide the temporary fix.

Twenty-four, forty-eight, seventy-two hours, more than the double, and it’s so little. Even can barely sit upright.

He opens his laptop and, head simmering with exhaustion, starts typing two emails.

First, to the cousin group chat to check if it’s possible to stay at the cabin again. For the rest of the week if possible. Second, and this takes a lot more effort, to el_wright. _It’s important that they know._ Even wonders what that means.

> **Hi, my name is Even.**

He pauses. How does one explain this?

> **I have a bot that was designed by you. I think.**

“I think,” he mutters out loud. Even doesn’t think, he knows. Jonas said his “design partner.” Isak’s, presumably. Even deletes the "I think," and continues, admonishing himself to be clear.

> **His name is Isak and he’s faulty.**

There.

It’s heartbreakingly matter-of-fact, mechanical, to see it written out like this. Much harsher than saying it.

He wonders how much he should go into detail. If it matters or not.

> **Jonas had a look at him and said you might be able to help.**

He stares at the screen, mind blank, for an indefinite number of minutes. Hits send, and closes his laptop.

He undresses next to the bed, not bothering to pick up his clothes before he crawls in. Holds Isak’s warm, unmoving body with a hand on his chest, nose in his hair. Closes his eyes and falls into a fitful sleep.

Seemingly moments later, but probably only an hour, Even sits straight up in bed, jolted awake by one of those nightmares where you try to scream and can’t—the vocal chords won’t work. Isak is still there and not there; his mouth is slightly open as he sleeps. Unaware of any disturbance. Unbothered.

Even unplugs his phone and scoots to the edge of the bed. His email went out a little before midnight. It’s three in the morning now. _Fuck it._

He types.

> **Hi, Even again. I think I screwed up. The specific words Jonas told me to write were ‘Jonas checked’ and it felt a little like a spy movie. Perhaps it’s code. He seems like a guy who uses code words.**

Even presses the phone to his forehead.

> **It’s not code. I don’t know. I sometimes make things more exciting than they need to be. You work with code. For you, everything is code.**
> 
> **I’m rambling.**
> 
> **Let me tell you about Isak.**
> 
> **He doesn’t like being photographed and he sings when he brushes his teeth. He loves fractals and theoretical physics.**
> 
> **I promised him a trip abroad. I need to make good on that.**
> 
> **Isak isn’t faulty, he’s perfect.**
> 
> **Something’s wrong with me and I might have made him wrong. I just want him to be right again.**
> 
> **Jonas thought you should know because you might be able to help?**
> 
> **I’m sorry I wasn’t more-**

Even stops typing. He hits backspace on that last line and hits send.

Out of a need to not think, he picks up his clothes from the floor, brings dishes to the sink. He throws out spoiled food in the refrigerator. It doesn’t take very long to do.

He picks up his phone, opens up his email. Even wants to sign off on the message a bit more politely but before he can, he sees there's a reply.

At 3.21, a reply.

It’s spaced out neatly, in short lines. Like a poem.

> _**I have questions** _
> 
> _**who told you the bot’s name was Isak?** _
> 
> _**the bot wants to travel?** _
> 
> _**why are you awake?** _

Even scoffs. He replies immediately and finds himself mirroring the spacing.

> **He did. Isak named himself.**
> 
> **Yes! He wants to travel.**
> 
> **I would quote a song at you but instead I’ll ask, why are you?**

The return email comes less than a minute later.

> _**was the travel idea unprompted? or did you ask? where does he want to go?** _
> 
> _**how did you come across the bot? what condition was it in?** _
> 
> _**what was the first thing it said to you?** _
> 
> _**when did it name itself? what were you doing?** _

Even sits on the couch and stares at the email for a moment. He thinks, then types his reply slowly, gathering speed the more he types.

> **I think I suggested travel. He was reading an old travel guide to Italy.**
> 
> **The conversation happened at a family cabin. Or do you mean where does he want to travel? Italy. He mentioned something about the Amalfi Coast but he said it in Italian so I don’t really know. We hadn’t discussed it very far.**
> 
> **I don’t remember what the first thing he said to me was? “I’m cold” maybe?**
> 
> **He was naked, that’s how he was in the box. I bought him at Elkjøp Megastore in Ullevål, he was on the shelf with all the other Illuminati Ada models.**
> 
> **That first night**

Even stops typing, remembering Isak sitting next to him on the couch. He looks down where Isak’s imprint would be, to his right. The way he whispered _Isak_ in his ear and Even felt his world bloom like a time-lapse flower.

> **That first night I set him up. He asked me what his name was and I told him to name himself. It took him an hour but he chose Isak.**
> 
> **Is this significant? Jonas asked the same question.**

The wait is longer this time but still under five minutes.

> _**when you say it was on the shelf with the other Ada models, are you telling me it was also being sold as a pleasure bot?** _
> 
> _**the bot was naked…so it was definitely being sold as a pleasure bot. and it was cold. what did you do?** _
> 
> _**it speaks Italian???** _
> 
> _**fuck this, can we message or is it too late? are you on twitter? DM me. same username.** _

Even finds el_wright easily. Their ‘about me’ is “stay gangsta.” They have two tweets, both links to articles―one about using robots for space exploration and another by a Swedish cosmologist that a quick perusal of confirms that Even should have taken more science electives at university.

el_wright accepts Even’s chat request and immediately starts typing.

**JERKSTORE? is that your username? random**

**yes, it’s significant in that bots can’t name themselves unless they’re prompted**

**bots can’t do anything without a prompt because they’re programmed**

**naming himself is complicated. either you unconsciously set off a hidden prompt (possible)**

**or the bot achieved sentience (impossible)**

**the bot did not achieve sentience**

Before el_wright can continue typing, Even replies.

**Why not?**

**because I designed that bot**

Even sits up, suddenly angry. He types.

**Isak.**

The dots stop. He continues.

**Call him Isak, his name is Isak. I don’t care if you designed him. He has a name.**

el_wright doesn’t type for a while and Even goes cold all over. He can’t afford to alienate the only other person besides Jonas who could potentially help Isak, he’s so stupid.

And then, they finally respond.

**jfc**

Even inhales.

**I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.  
He’s important to me. As I’m sure he was important to you at some point. **

**Please.**

**look  
this is a lot to take in**

**but I want to know everything**

**I don’t know if I will be able to help you**

**is that a problem?**

The phone shakes in Even’s hand. He drops it, and picks it up.

**No. Not a problem.**

**I told Jonas, I understand and agree to erasing me from his programming if that helps fix him.  
I’m fine with that.**

He’s so cold.

**I mean, I’m not fine with it. But I can be fine with it.**

el_wright doesn’t reply to that message. They go offline.

* * *

Jonas arrives at the appointed time and works on Isak while Even sits in the living room, their bags already packed for the trip. He drinks scalding coffee and tries to listen to Jonas and Isak in the next room. Jonas and his low, matter-of-fact voice, and Isak laughing. Then quiet, more quiet, stretching out densely.

It only takes an hour but it feels like days.

When Jonas comes out, Even hands him a cup of coffee.

“It’ll do for a week. But he may need to recharge a bit, it’ll be like sleep.”

Even nods. “Thank you.”

“I deleted some of the additional, newer programming. It’ll do for now.”

Jonas looks like he wants to say something but then he shakes his head, and puts his hand on Even’s shoulder. “Do you have any questions?”

“Can I call you if something goes wrong?”

“Of course.”

“Isak, uh, mentioned he helped create the Adas. Is that true?”

Jonas’s face clears of all expression for a moment. It’s not blankness, it’s too active for that. “Yes. I suppose that’s true. Have you seen an Ada?”

“There’s one next door. A refurbished model used as a carebot.”

“Good. I’ve worked hard to get the message out. I’m hoping the growing word-of-mouth will eventually have them repurposed.” He glances up sharply. “You noticed the resemblance then? Isak was the model for the Adas. It made the design process easier. One less expense to worry about.”

“But you said he wasn’t an Illuminati bot.”

“He’s not…he wasn’t supposed to be.” Jonas grimaces. “It’s complicated.”

Even rubs his eyes. “And who's Adrian?”

“Oh, umm, this kid in middle school who was a total know-it-all rich prick. His family moved to Barcelona. It became this inside joke, we blamed him for anything that went down.”

“Yeah.”

He feels so empty.

There are footsteps from the living room. Isak comes in and sits next to Even, putting his hand on his thigh. It reminds him of that first night.

“Are you okay?” Isak asks, as if Even’s the one in trouble.

He definitely is.

“I will be.”

Softly, Jonas calls from the front door. “Text me if you need anything, Even.” He pauses. “Have a good time, Isak.”

“Thanks, bro. We will.”

The door closes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible content warnings for this chapter: Hurt/Comfort
> 
> The wording for the Bot Lovers Anonymous Pro-Bot Relationship flyer text comes from “Intimacy, Bonding, and Sex Robots: Examining Empirical Results” by Matthias Scheutz and Thomas Arnold
> 
> Posting early this week! Thank you so much for reading and for all your comments and kudos! We're sorry we can't really answer too many questions but we love hearing your thoughts. 💕


	6. I see him, but not near

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even won’t cry, not now. 
> 
> This isn’t the end, it’s the twist in the story. The point in the film where the action loops and goes back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please scroll down if you're worried about any squicks or triggers—no archive warnings apply, though.

Another scene.

Two young men on a train, a pale setting sun reflecting through the window and onto their faces. The late November landscape flashing by as if seen through a shutter, like a Super 8 film. Just as nostalgic. Even as it happens, it’s like watching it from a distance, from an unknown future, looking back.

Isak leans his head on Even’s shoulder and smiles. That smile, the one that belongs to Even. His eyes, without a hint of drowsiness. Sharp, in focus, their green shade as clear as sunlight filtering through leaves.

This really should be a movie. Cut out of time, stripped of meaning or relevance in relation to anything else. As if the only thing that matters is this second, this minute. As if it would never change, or end.

There are other people in the car, but only peripheral, blurred, their conversations an indistinct murmur. Focus is on the two young men, on their hands, intertwined in the slightly taller one’s lap. A kiss on the forehead, and it starts to rain. Huge, heavy drops smattering on the windows, wide patterns floating on the glass, reflecting on their faces. It doesn’t make sense—their happy, secret smiles, the thick trails of tears running down their cheeks.

A window is open; someone shuts it. The soundtrack goes quiet.

The journey’s loaded with emotion, but can’t quite settle into true cinematic poetry since Even’s phone keeps vibrating. And vibrating. Isak’s eyes look from the phone to Even’s face.

He can’t lie, not now, but he can’t quite tell the truth.

“It’s a friend of a friend from the bot support group. They’re answering questions for me.”

“They?”

“I don’t...I haven’t met them in person. I don’t know what their preferred pronouns are.”

“You could ask.”

Even smiles. “I could.”

Another notification buzz. Even sighs.

“They really want to talk to you.”

“Yes, they have a lot of questions.” Even takes Isak’s hand and squeezes it. It’s warm, but pleasantly so. “It’s important that I answer them. Do you mind?”

Isak appears to think it over. Then shakes his head. He turns to look out the window.

Even opens his messages.

**I wasn’t sure if I was hallucinating but you have a bot that’s named Isak and “Jonas checked,” correct?**

**I don’t sleep much so anything is possible**

**or are you fucking with me?**

**are you a friend of Jonas who is fucking with me?**

Isak lets go of Even's hand and pats his thigh. “Is it going to be very cold at the cabin? You get cold easily.”

“It’s okay, I’ll get firewood,” Even replies. He turns back to his phone screen and starts typing.

**You did not hallucinate. I’m Even and Isak is my bot.**

That doesn’t sound right. Even deletes “bot” and types _boyfriend_. Deletes that and types _partner_. Then deletes that too. Leaves it at _I’m Even_.

**The man at the store where I purchased Isak referred me to Jonas and he had a look at Isak. Told me to get in touch with you and say the magic code words so that you’d know...something. I don’t know.**

**okay where is the bot now? is he with Jonas?**

**Isak is with me. We’re headed to a family cabin for the week.**

**now?**

Even types very quickly, to possibly outpace his emotions. It doesn’t work.

**Jonas made a temporary fix giving me a week. I just wanted to get us out of Oslo and be together without reminders before**

He exhales.

**Jonas takes him to see what he can do**

**be together?**

**oh right**

**together**

The dots stop.

**I’m sorry, you seem okay and “Jonas checked” means that you’re not some bot fetishist. I’m sure you had compelling reasons for getting a pleasure bot. I made my peace with what happened to the Adas but this is  
**

**I’m going to need a minute  
or a coffee or a nap **

**something**

He thinks about telling el_wright about how he wanted to go back to making movies but it’s irrelevant really. It doesn’t change where he wound up. _Understood_ , Even replies and next to him, Isak leans his head on his shoulder.

* * *

It’s like a background shimmer, the memories from their last time here. Hovering around them as they walk down to the wet, deserted dock, the steel gray rippled surface of the lake.  
  
Isak holds his hand as they walk, tightening his grip when Even climbs on top of a few polished rocks, wet with the rain from before. Keeps Even upright when his foot slips, and laughs as he stumbles down ungracefully. Isak’s fingers are warm despite the cold.

It’s so strange, how everything is different when finally, Isak is the same as before. His bright, hoarse laugh that somehow sounds like it folds in on itself. His hair a fuzzy crown in the moist air.

The last time they were here the leaves were yellow, and Even remembers thinking how he wanted to come back, over and over. Bring Isak here in the winter, in spring, in summer, and see the color of his skin change with the sun.

Isak cooks for him that night; a complicated pasta dish with lots of ingredients, and he watches expectantly as Even eats. It tastes perfect, and every bite grows in Even’s mouth, behind his smile.

“Wonderful, thank you,” Even says and Isak’s pleased smile hits him deep. “Isak, how do you know Jonas?”

“He’s my bro.”

“Okay.” Even frowns. “Did he make you?”

Isak tilts his head, blinks, but doesn’t answer. 

“Isak, who made you?”

Nothing. His gaze is placid. As if Even isn't speaking at all.

“What were you made for?”

He stands up and smiles down at Even. “Do you want more pasta? I think I made too much.”

“No,” Even answers, after a pause. “Thank you. I’m not that hungry.”

Isak insists on doing the dishes. Straight-backed at the sink with rubber gloves on and humming that song Even can't place.

_You could ask._

Could he?

“Why don't you sit down?” Isak suggests, without turning around. Even watches the movement of Isak's shoulder blades. The spot at the nape of his neck that, when rubbed just so, makes Isak's eyes close with a small, content smile.

He shakes his head. More to himself than Isak, who is focused on scrubbing a pan. “This is where I want to be.”

When they’re in bed, Isak shuffles close, closer, and runs his fingers through Even’s hair.

“Will you tell me why you’re sad?”

Even meets Isak’s gaze, open and attentive in the dark. How could he? How could he not?

“I’m not sad.” He swallows, unsmiling.

“But you are.” Isak’s fingertips stop at his neck, hesitant. “Is it…because of the apartment? The smoke? I still don’t know why I…I don’t know.”

Isak looks small again, confused, and Even’s head hurts. “Can we…can we just sleep?”

“Okay.” Isak looks at him for a beat too long. Then, tentative, “I love you.”

“I love you.” Even grabs his shoulder tighter. 

Isak holds him, lips at his hairline and arm around his back, and Even breathes into his neck, listens to his fluttering pulse.

If Jonas has to erase Even from Isak’s memory, he won’t remember anything. Won’t remember this, or the last time they were here. All the hours in the sun, in their home, their bed. Every kiss, every time they’ve been inside each other.

Is there some way to erase Even’s memories as well?

A while later, Isak’s in sleep mode, peaceful and serene and Even is angry. Angry at the universe for sending him something— _someone_ —this perfect and beautiful, and not intending for it to be real, or for Even to get to keep him. It’s not only unfair, it’s so. Meaningless.

He grabs his phone from the bedside table and hammers out a furious email to el_wright about the whole idea of bots and the decision to breathe life into something that never had a choice and did el_wright fucking ask Isak if he even wanted to exist? Did they ever think about how their creation might affect others, how building a bot this brilliant, this beautiful and impossibly faulty would tear Even’s heart to pieces?

He stares at the screen for a minute before erasing it.

Not only does he not want to scare el_wright away, but he also realizes how unfair he’s being. Why wouldn’t they want to create someone like Isak if they could? Why wouldn’t anyone want to see the result of their ideas, especially if it’s this kind of perfection?

How is it even possible to think up someone like Isak?

Who decided on making him so smart, so stubborn, so funny and compassionate? Who even thought up that bow of his top lip, the deep green of his eyes? Was it Jonas? Or this person that never sleeps and gets boners over scholarly articles on computational physics? Another one of their friends, their design partners?

There’s a spark of curiosity there, overshadowing the anger and anxiety for a second, and Even straightens his back up against the headboard of the bed.

He glances down at Isak, stretched out on his stomach with his cheek squished on the pillow. Isak sighs in his sleep, fingers twitching on the sheet beside him, and Even puts his phone to the side.

As soon as he puts it down, it vibrates, nearly falling off the side table.

**what is Isak doing right now?**

Even smiles at seeing el_wright use Isak’s name. Just like that, Even isn’t mad at all.

**Sleeping.**

**did you turn him off?**

**No, he’s sleeping.**

**weird**

**Why? Bots sleep. Don't they? A kind of sleep.**

**not always**

**depends on the bot**

**I can’t believe I didn’t ask this last night but can you send me a photo of Isak?**

**Sure.**

Even looks through his camera roll. He has so many photos of Isak but he doesn’t want to share any of them. Not because they’re spurious―usually it’s just Isak smiling at the camera―but because they’re his.

He finds some pictures of the two of them from their last trip to the cabin. Even had set up the timer and they sat as it took a series of photos; each photo got sillier and sillier. He picks one in the middle, before the really stupid faces start happening, and Isak’s grin is wide and Even’s looking at him like his heart’s about to explode. He hesitates before sending it but then goes ahead. He wants to be as upfront with el_wright as possible.

**wow**

**that’s him. I didn’t think I’d see him again.**

**who’s that with him?**

Even looks at the photo again, smiling at the angle of Isak’s insouciant chin.

**That’s me.  
**

**lol right**

**that's not you**

He frowns.

**It is.**

**its not**

**Why so skeptical?** **Have we met?**

**wtf, are you a bot?**

**No.**

**where were your parents born?**

Even almost replies with “Oslo” but then barks out a laugh.

**Are you seriously trying to check if I’m a bot?  
  
Wouldn’t a bot come up with a backstory? **

**no, backstories are stupid  
if someone asks a bot about its parents, it should just go quiet because who wants to fucking hear that?**

**I would.  
**

**but you’re a bot. or a stock picture of a bot.  
**

**I am not a bot.**

**Are you going to ask me about my dreams next?**

**ha ha ha blade runner that’s a good movie**

Even snorts. _Did they just?_

Fuck this.

**Why can’t Isak answer questions about himself?**

**what kind of questions?**

**Did you make it so he can’t answer?**

_Can he love? Can he love me?_ That he doesn’t dare ask.

**yes**

**What was he made for?**

**sorry can’t tell you that**

**can I ask you something?**

For a single petty moment, he thinks of saying no.

**Go ahead.**

**how old are you?**

**Thirty-three.**

**you look younger than that**

Even supposes he should thank el_wright but he can’t seem to. He feels ancient.

**the new blade runner was garbage though  
**

**the remake**

**The Denis Villeneuve? I liked it.**

**you would**

**because you’re a bot**

Even doesn’t have a reply. He just sits there with the phone in his hand.

**sorry, I didn’t mean to make a joke about you being a bot  
**

**you just don’t look how I expected**

**I feel like I’ve seen you before**

**you probably fell asleep**

**for backstory  
ask Isak about the star of bethlehem**

**good night**

“Good night,” Even says out loud and Isak shifts closer to him. He turns off the phone.

* * *

Time, here at the end, is an unpredictable thing.

Sometimes it moves so slowly that it feels frozen, as if everything is holding its breath. When Isak turns to Even as they sit by the fireplace and smiles like he’s never going to stop. Opens his mouth as if to say something, but doesn’t, and Even’s heart skips a beat, two, three.

Sometimes, time’s moving fast, way too fast, slipping away from Even like quicksilver.

He wishes he could take his own advice and spend this week together with Isak without reminders. He tries his best not to think too much about what’ll come next, he really does.

Mostly, he succeeds. It never goes away though—for every glance, every time Isak’s hand wraps around his, there’s a counterweight jerk in his stomach.

When they go for walks, Even insists that Isak leads the way. Mostly so Even can watch him. Ingrain the way his long, lean legs step over the roots without stumbling in his memory. The beacon that is Isak’s curls, golden even under the gray November clouds.

In one possible future, the times they’ll walk here together, like this, are infinite. And in another, this is the last.

A small but insistent voice grates at the back of his head with its _You knew it wouldn’t last anyway. Your time was always measured. You would age and grow old, and he would stay the same. Would you really want that?_

_No. Yes. I don’t know._

Now and then, a feeble thought hits: that maybe, maybe this isn’t only temporary. Maybe Jonas did fix Isak permanently, unknowingly. Maybe they’ll come home after this and everything will be okay.

He knows it’s a desperate grasping at straws, but the thought still comes. That all-human attempt at pretending that this time, _this time_ , there’s been a mistake.

This is bargaining.

Even’s human, there’s no code to him at all. He can be unpredictable, nonsensical, and inconsistent. When he fails, there’s no forever fix. He’s permanently flawed. Yet, here he is doing the most cliched, expected thing.

This is how Even behaves when _he’s_ prompted.

Isak’s at the window, closing his eyes to the sun, chin tilted up to receive its kiss. The sun is always-summer to him, and he is always-summer to Even.

His fingers grasp Isak’s arm, the sinewy muscle. He lets go and his hand slides across Isak’s shoulder blades. Isak sighs, turning toward him and sliding his arms around Even’s neck.

They sway.

“Can I?” Isak asks, his hold tight.

Even’s kissed Isak so many times but it’s always new; it’s always a first kiss. He doesn’t want to think about all those first kisses ending, so he closes his eyes.

“Even. Look at me.” Isak eyes are large and luminous in this light, his lashes fluttering against Even’s cheek. “Can I?”

He doesn’t know when it happened. When he got stupid and started thinking in absolutes all the time― _always_ , _never_ , and _forever_. Nothing is like that, which is its own paradox.

Perhaps it’s because Isak should be forever and Even should be temporary. It’s wrong for it to be the other way around.

The bedroom is cold but he forgets about the temperature soon enough. Even doesn’t have time to think about going slow or lighting candles or doing something to indicate that what they’re doing is a goodbye ritual of sorts―an ending. It isn’t and it can’t be. Not if Isak doesn’t know what’s happening with himself. As far as Isak knows, every day has been free of worry. Yet, he kisses Even like a starving man, making bitten-off sounds that are too pretty to be grunts. His movements are grasping and hungry. Isak won’t even let Even undress, he does everything, kisses everything―each bit of exposed skin or birthmark or bone-bump. As if he hasn’t seen Even in years and would like to swallow him whole in welcome.

It frightens him. Because it’s easier if Even is the only one desiring. Easier to let go if he doesn’t think Isak will miss him.

“I’ve missed you,” Even chokes out and Isak keeps kissing him like it would kill him to stop. He pauses only to smile dazedly and nuzzle against Even’s cheek.

“I’m right here.”

Isak repeats it until the message gets in Even’s body and he’s responding with just as much fervor. Isak takes his face in his hands. “I really need to fuck you. Can I?”

 _Need. Not want._ Even nods. Isak rolls him over on the bed and lifts his hips. He takes less time to prepare Even than he usually does, and when he breaches him, it stings. His impatience has made him careless. The burn changes quickly into pleasure however, particularly when Isak licks the hot shell of his ear―gasping and loud.

Even buries his face in the pillow as Isak envelops him. All over Even, inside him, around him; there’s nothing to him but Isak. Even says his name over and over again in time to Isak’s frenzied thrusts until it’s just a long string of _sssssssss._ Isak’s movements don’t falter like Even’s would. There’s nothing to indicate that he’s going to come when he does. Isak doesn’t stutter on the finish at all. He comes with that laugh, panting, his heart loud enough to shake the bed.

“Even, you didn’t.”

“I know. But it’s fine. I don’t need to.”

Isak’s face is flushed and his eyes are small with drowsiness. “It’s not fine. I need to make you feel good.”

Even smiles. “You do. You always do.”

They wrestle lazily; Isak barely trying to flip him over and stopping. Settling for wiggling down Even’s back and licking into him instead, pushing his knee to the side for access. Isak curls his fingers inside him and Even rides the wave of that motion. Tongue and fingers, opening him up again and fuller. It’s a muted, low hum of arousal that somehow becomes a visual in his head when Isak enters him once more―a long blue pulsing line. It’s a place Even could stay in, forever feeling so fucking good. Isak tells Even to get ready to come and, before he can deny it, say that he’s not even close, his orgasm overcomes him. It hits and hits, hurts too, as Isak comes again as well, pulling out so Even can feel the heat of Isak’s semen as it lands on his rim, getting pumped back inside him with another thrust. It’s a sweet, drawn-out ache. Particularly when Isak eats him out once more, leaving no trace. Even can’t protest. He can’t say, _I_ _wanted to keep you for a bit longer_.

“Baby,” Isak murmurs against his neck after he’s done. “Look at me.”

This time, he gives, turning over slowly. Even keeps his eyes tightly closed. If he doesn’t see Isak’s eyes, he won’t have to say anything.

His legs feel like they’re made of jelly. His arms too, he can’t move. He has no bones.

“Even, can I reach you right now?”

He opens his eyes immediately. “Yes.”

“Good,” Isak nods reassuringly, a single nod down. The gesture says, _This is you and me._ “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Even panics.

“What’s the Star of Bethlehem?”

Isak’s eyes close and his breathing mechanism seems to stop. Even doesn’t dare breathe himself. There’s a whirring sound, and Isak speaks.

“I see him, but not now. I see him, but not near.”

His voice. Its timbre is different.

The room feels terribly cold. Isak continues, soft as snow.

“A star will come out of Jakob.”

Minutes pass.

He can’t help it, Even moves closer despite the fear. He wants to take the question back. He wants Isak to stop talking and, as if he heard Even’s internal panic, Isak does, opening his eyes and scanning the ceiling as if there’s something there to see. His expression is jarring; he looks exhausted.

“Numbers 24:17. The Bible. Have you read?” Then he laughs, the color rising up in his cheeks. Even doesn’t understand.

“Isak-”

“I’m joking. Obviously. Why would you have read the Bible?”

Even smiles ruefully. “You’d be surprised.”

“I haven’t actually read the Bible but...my mamma is super into Jesus and some of it stuck.”

“Mamma?” Even tilts his head.

“Yeah, I grew up going to church a lot. My dad wasn’t as involved but we all went.”

“You did?”

Isak rolls over, his cheek smushed against the pillow. “Yeah.”

The silence that follows has an unsteady, shifting weight. Isak seems fine but there’s a tightness to his jaw, and Even waits for his teeth to gnash or for his mouth to drop. Something, anything, to release the hint of tension in his face. Isak does neither. He doesn’t quite look like himself. Or rather, this is a new look on him.

“In the Gospel of Matthew, the Star of Bethlehem appears and hovers over the site of Jesus’s birth, announcing his arrival.” Isak reaches up and rubs an eye. “The Three Wise Men from the East follow the star to Bethlehem, to greet our Savior, ‘the Son of God went down on earth,’” he half-sings and trails off, embarrassed. “Anyway, blah blah blah. Christmas.”

Even breathes in and out slowly, listening.

“I never really believed in any of it. I always had too many questions. I wanted to know what things were made of, where they came from. It never made sense to me that a star would just materialize in the sky without a reason. So I started doing research.” Isak scoots up a little, warming to the topic. “Did you know that there are historical records from roughly that time―of a star that just came and went―that have nothing to do with anything ‘sacred’? In China, for example. Korea. So, the Star of Bethlehem could’ve existed. Only it wasn’t a star or a ‘miracle.’ It was a comet. Or a supernova. Or a close alignment of planets!”

“Which one was it?”

Isak smiles his gap-toothed smile and shakes his head. “I don’t know!”

Even laughs. It surprises him. Isak too, given how his face shifts.

“But I like the supernova theory the best.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s fucking awesome.” Isak shoves Even lightly in the shoulder with the tips of his fingers. A new move, playful and light, and Even reacts as if he’s been wounded, which elicits a giggle out of Isak. His shoulders curve forward as he laughs and Even adores Isak like this. Surprising him with newness.

“All these people, long ago, watching the death of a star.” Isak grows serious, biting his lip. “But it doesn’t matter, the point is there was something in the sky, an actual cosmological event, and it somehow wound up in this story I’d hear in church, only now it made sense.”

“It was real.”

Isak nods. “Science comforted me...the plausible explanation. It felt good. When I told Mamma this, I thought.” Isak’s throat works as he tries to swallow. “I thought she would be mad. That I didn’t believe. I felt guilty.”

Their hands are intertwined and Even squeezes. Isak gives him a wobbly little grin.

“But she encouraged me. Took me to the planetarium, bought me books, listened. Because somehow, part of that belief, that love, included me.” A tear rolls down Isak’s cheek, and he wipes it swiftly with his wrist, muttering with a shaky laugh, “Fuck.”

“Hey.”

“Sorry.”

Even brings him closer―kisses his eyes, cheeks, nose, the strong line of his jaw. Everything he can reach and Isak laughs, pushing him away, somewhat reluctantly.

“You know...she hasn’t been feeling well lately. I should call her.”

It happens quickly. Even is so wrapped in the nervous joy of the moment that it doesn't seem strange when Isak grabs his phone from the nightstand, dials, and says, “Hello.”

“No.” Even sits up, watching dumbly. “Isak.”

Isak holds up a hand, one finger, a minute, and listens intently to whomever is on the other end of the line.

“Yes, he’s here. Bye.”

He hangs up and hands the phone to Even. His eyelashes flutter and stop. He licks his lips slowly, brow furrowed.

“Even. Can I reach you right now?”

There’s a slight warble to his voice.

“Yes.”

Isak turns his head. “What was I just talking about?”

“Christmas.”

He rolls his eyes up to the ceiling and bites his bottom lip. “Do you...do you want to get a tree?”

“I would love to get a tree.”

“Then let’s-” Isak yawns suddenly, eyes dimming. “Then let's do that.” Moments later, he’s out cold and breathing―nothing in and nothing out.

After Even stops shaking, he goes to the kitchen. He sits at the faded wooden table that wobbles because of that one too-short table leg his cousins don’t ever fix. He drinks a glass of water. Then he tries to call the last number dialed. It’s blocked. Finally, he messages.

**What did you do? Just now, on the phone?**

Of course, el_wright is awake and messages back immediately.

**I gave Isak a spoken prompt. that deleted the conversation from his memory. it’s like control+z. instant undo.**

**What was the prompt?**

For some reason, Even thinks this might be important.

**Aquila**

**What is that?**

el_wright doesn’t respond right away. Even pours himself another glass of water and accidentally bumps the table with his hip. The water sloshes over but the glass doesn’t fall. His phone buzzes.

**a constellation**

Even nods to himself slowly. 

**Isak is a bot  
he responds to prompts  
programming**

**Yes.  
**

**It was.  
It was impressive.**

He’s sore and shifts in his chair to alleviate the ache. On his phone screen, el_wright types.

**I programmed a backstory but I realized he’d never need it so I buried it  
**

**because no one wants to hear that**

**right?**

**it’s corny**

In the pause that follows, Even wipes down the water that spilled on the table and washes his glass. He grabs a piece of cardboard in a drawer, folds it and wedges it under the table leg to stabilize it. He’s fixing things but he’s also buying time. Isak’s speech has filled his mind with stars.

**look, I’m sorry. that probably wasn’t okay for you. I wanted to show off my work, I think. or make a point, I don’t know. that was a dick move.  
**

**Even?  
**

**are you okay?**

The words should hurt but they don’t. Even agrees. Isak is a beautiful work.

**Yes.**

**The story was beautiful.  
Thank you for letting me hear it.**

It’s not a lie. Even goes to bed with gratitude in his heart. el_wright gave something of themselves with that prompt; they gave Isak something real and, in turn, Isak gifted that truth to Even. A gift inside another gift.

He picks up his phone again and googles Aquila, the eagle, which leads to reading wiki articles on Greek mythology. Zeus disguising himself as an eagle so he could fly off with Ganymede, a youth so beautiful that he was granted immortality for the privilege. Even has no such gift for Isak, who is also beautiful, and wakes Even with his fingers and his mouth, fucking into him as quietly as the morning. Isak whispers about breakfast and love, turning Even over and moving above him, hair catching the sun and shining.

The hours pass too quickly.

Isak is sleepier than usual, takes frequent naps, sprawled out on the couch and wakes up right into a thought. Like telling Even that the “Single Buffalo” is a simple, transitional tap dance step that needs to be perfected in order to move seamlessly from one move to another and how had he forgotten that he’d programmed Isak to tap dance? Isak stands up to demonstrate and the precise clicking of his feet on the living room floor is a happy beat.

The phone rings and Even answers without looking to see who it is, transfixed by Isak’s arms in something called a “Windmill.” Even’s in his very own musical. There’s no music but he doesn’t need it.

“Even, sweetheart.”

“Oh hey, Mom.”

“I got your text. You sent it pretty late.”

Isak isn’t dancing anymore; he’s clearing plates and cleaning up. He smiles at Even over his shoulder.

“I’m okay,” Even says automatically, following Isak into the kitchen.

“I was hoping you might come down to visit us for Christmas?”

“Maybe.”

Isak flicks water at Even and Even mouths “Fuck you” at him. Isak giggles silently, that one lock of hair that always curls in front of his face shaking.

“You sound happy. Everything good?”

The wind blows outside and Isak’s in a pair of thick green and red Christmas socks that Even had forgotten he owned. Even feels love in that small detail. It feels present and specific. It’s not some over-the-top declaration, the room isn’t festooned with garlands, but there’s love in that visual. Isak’s bare feet in Even’s socks.

He nods. “Everything is good. How about you?”

“I’m good too. Though Dad may have broken his toe again so he’s limping around and moaning.”

It still makes him warm inside, hearing his mom address his father as “Dad.” As casually as when Even was little. Even if they’ve been back together for years now.

“How many times has this happened?”

“Once every other year for the past six years. We need to burn all the step stools,” she says with a sigh. “You know how he gets when he can’t spend at least an hour a day working in his precious garden.”

His mom affectionately complains some more about his dad, then talks about her half-successful attempt to make Indian food and some upcoming travel plans. In the background, Isak putters around, occasionally walking past and stroking Even’s neck. Or shoulder. His face.

“Mom, I have to go. I’ll call you next week.”

“Yes, please do. And Even?” His mom stops. He can almost picture her biting her lip. “We would love to see you. Think about it.”

Isak leans against the kitchen counter, a tea towel draped over his shoulder, long legs crossed at the ankle. Smiling at him like Even’s real.

“Will do. Love you.”

“Love you.”

He puts the phone down on the table and rises slowly, walking over to Isak, who tilts his head back at his approach.

“How’s your mom?”

“She’s good, thank you for asking.”

Isak uncrosses his legs and straightens to his full height, kissing Even softly. “Want to learn how to tap dance?”

Even laughs, pointing at himself. “Me?”

“You.”

“Why not?” He claps his hands and rubs them together, still laughing.

“We’ll start with the basics.”

“Should there be music?”

Isak frowns. “Of course,” as if affronted.

The song that blares out of the radio is pure pop cheese and Isak immediately starts tapping to it.

“I can’t do that.”

“Not yet,” Isak says, slowing down. “Start with this. Point your foot, tap it to the floor twice. Tap, tap. There. Good.”

Even knows he’s all legs, but Isak’s praise makes him giddy, despite how foolish he must look. They do this for a minute, with Even stumbling and losing the beat and Isak never losing his smile.

“You’ve got it. Just keep trading off from one foot to the other. Now tap your heel. Excellent. Now back to before. Toe, toe. Heel, heel.”

Isak is a patient teacher and Even does his best to be a dutiful student. They dance in the kitchen for an hour, the tap dancing eventually ditched for more basic moves, which turn into full body slow dance sways. The songs on the radio are saccharine, things like “Careless Whisper” and some Julie Bergan ballad, but like this, in Isak’s company, they’re delirious symphonies.

This is their last day together probably.

Isak parts his lips, wets them, and says, “I am real, you know,” and Even is taken by surprise.

“Of course you are.”

If bodies can prove realness, truth by virtue of intent, weight, presence, then theirs prove it. All night long, in constant prolonged delay. Isak’s wrist in Even’s grip, mouth at his ear. They are both real. Their love is real too. Even won’t cry, not now. This isn’t the end, it’s the twist in the story. The point in the film where the action loops and goes back again.

* * *

On the train home, Isak falls asleep on Even’s shoulder. It only takes a few minutes before he wakes up though, eyes widening and staring into nothing, then blinking, heavily, with his whole face. Morphing into an open-mouthed smile as he turns his head and spots Even. As if he’s happily surprised to find him here.

It’s not a long ride, less than an hour, but the seconds stretch out, heavy like lead and featherlight at the same time. If Even could, he’d keep them forever. Locked inside a box that he never has to open again because it’s too much, too beautiful and too terrible.

“Tomorrow when you’re at work, I’m cleaning the apartment,” Isak says, suddenly. “It looked awful when we left.”

“It did,” Even agrees.

“Yeah. You need help with that.” Isak takes his hand and shuffles closer, and Even’s throat feels tight like a vice.

If this indeed was a movie, this would be the part where the music slows down and there are only strings left, thin but insistent. In the background, barely noticeable but adding to that feeling of impending doom that you want to ignore but can’t.

“I,” he starts. “Um, actually. You know, about that-”

Isak looks up from his shoulder, watching him with open, attentive eyes. “The apartment?”

Even doesn’t want to say, but how could he not? There’s only hours left. He doesn’t know where to go from here.

“Yes.” He kisses Isak’s temple. “The…mess. And the smell. The smoke.”

Isak blinks, smile evening out into something tentative. “Yeah?”

Isak’s hand goes slack in his hand, his expression vague and Even wants to kiss it away, take it back, erase everything with a prompt that fixes it. Fixes him. Everything.

But it’s too late now. It’s too late for everything.

“I. About that.” He squeezes Isak’s fingers, puts his other hand on his cheek. “We’re going to Jonas when we come home and…he’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Okay.” Isak nods, serious. “That’s good. Jonas can help.”

“It’ll only be for a few days.” Even doesn’t know if he lies for Isak’s sake or for his own, but it rolls so easily off his tongue. “Just a small…system update.”

He runs his fingers through Isak’s hair, carefully. A meaningless promise. Kisses his forehead and looks out the window.

“Okay.” Isak shrugs in his arms. “Cool.”

He glances up at Even, a small smile on his face, chin tilted in that angle that means he wants a kiss. Casual, like every day. Like this is nothing.

Even kisses him, slow and close-mouthed, with a thick, dry throat. Kisses him again and holds him until the train stops at the station and people stand up around them and leave. Isak has dozed off in his arms again, but wakes with a confused blink, cheeks pink and curls standing up on one side of his head. His forehead is blazing hot under Even’s lips.

Isak holds his hand all the way to Jonas’ apartment. It’s not until he presses the buzzer at the gate that Even realizes that Isak never asked him about the address—he already knew the way.

Jonas greets Isak with a high five and a hug, Even with a handshake. Even finds himself standing in the hallway, not knowing where to put his hands or his feet. Not knowing if he should stay. When the proper time is to say goodbye.

Isak makes the choice for him―turns and puts his hand on Even’s cheek with a small tilt to his head.

“Don’t be scared,” Isak says, the gap behind his teeth barely visible with his calm smile. “You found us. You know that. There’s no going back.”

Even would ask him what he means, because yes, he found Isak, but right now, it doesn’t make sense. Nothing does. He doesn’t want to close his eyes as they kiss, but does anyway, anything to hide the tears burning behind his eyelids.

“Don’t be scared,” Isak repeats, and kisses him one last time, hand cupped around Even’s jaw. His eyes are joyful and certain. “I’ll see you soon. Next time we meet, it will be-”  
  
He trails off, smile curling upwards.

“-so much more.”

With that, Isak turns and disappears into the apartment. His sweet smell stays for a few seconds before it thins out into the air.

“I’ll call you,” Jonas says from the living room door. Even doesn’t know how long he stood there watching. “Take care, man.”

“Yeah.”

His legs move automatically on the way home and it feels like walking through a tunnel. As if the houses and people and cars are nothing but props. Like Even has headphones on, only that there’s no music that fits this, no soundtrack. Only the cold and silent November air, leaving his fingers as numb as his insides.

A trace of burnt plastic lingers in the apartment air, the hallway and living room just as untidy as when they left. Even’s t-shirt is still around one of the pillows, ruffled, the sheets crumpled beside it. If he squints, it looks like Isak’s shape.

He lets himself cry. It is a long, thorough letting go. Then he wipes his face, washes his hands, and opens the windows and airs the place out.

He doesn’t change the sheets though. In a few days, maybe.

The t-shirt and trousers Isak wore the day before they left lie on top in the hamper in an unruly heap. They probably smell like smoke too.

On the bedside table, on Isak’s side, that green notebook. Even forgot to give it to Jonas. A pencil sits next to it. A pencil. Even rolls it with his fingertips. Maybe he can mail it.

Before he crawls into bed he checks his phone. There’s no message from Jonas, but two notifications from el_wright.

**today was the day you dropped Isak off, right?  
**

**hope you’re okay**

He’s too exhausted to answer. Only rolls over in bed, facing Isak’s side, his heartbeat heavy in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible content warnings for this chapter: ANGST
> 
> PS Back when we wrote this, we didn't even know the [2020 Great Conjunction](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_conjunction#2020) was coming up. Kismet!
> 
> Sorry for the sads. Even is right though―this isn't the end. Thank you for your comments and kudos! We love them and you! 
> 
> See you next week. 💙


	7. About infinite possibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak isn’t here but he’s everywhere. In the silence, on the suddenly too wide couch. When Even stretches out his legs there’s no warm lap to put his feet up into, no arm on the backrest welcoming him. 
> 
> The bed sheets are still wrinkled on Isak’s side, but Even’s fitful sleep pulls at them, flattens them out. 
> 
> He’s going to have to change the bedding soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please scroll down if you're worried about any squicks or triggers—no archive warnings apply, though.

When Magnus laughs, there’s a bit of a snort to it and it seems to kick through his body like electricity.

“But seriously, Niklas is delusional, bro. I mean, more than me even.” Magnus widens his eyes and shrugs. “It’s kind of therapeutic.”

Even struggles to remember who Niklas is―he’s either the librarian who fell in love with the filing bot or the man who wants to vacation with his sexbot in Menorca.

(Not that it matters. Even quit the support group the previous week after telling a skinny woman with a nervous smile that she was going to grow old and die. That her vacant-eyed bot fiancé, yet another Penetrator Chris model, this one with bleached blond hair, _wouldn’t_. He turned to all of the people sitting on those cheap folding chairs with their frightened, frowning faces, and informed them that their lives were more fantasy than reality. Then he stood up and left.)

Even is struggling, period. But nevertheless, he’d texted Magnus to come over, ordered a pizza, played the host. The plan had been to watch something that wouldn’t remind him of Isak but nearly everything does. No matter how irrelevant.

Isak isn’t here but he’s everywhere. In the silence, on the suddenly too wide couch. When Even stretches out his legs there’s no warm lap to put his feet up into, no arm on the backrest welcoming him. The bed sheets are still wrinkled on Isak’s side, but Even’s fitful sleep pulls at them, flattens them out.

He’s going to have to change the bedding soon.

“I tell you, man,” Magnus goes on, stuffing another slice in his mouth. “Anette cried so hard there were tears dripping down in her coffee, like, splash, splash. Like, if she had salt in her coffee instead of sugar.”

“Gross.” Even has to admit it’s quite comical. He can’t help the pull of his lip up into a kind of half-smile. 

“Yeah.” Magnus nods, chewing and attempting to lick his fingers at the same time. “And she looked like…all messed up. And then Peter started crying too, and they hugged and she kinda just…smothered him against her chest? It was like that scene from _Fight Club_. But without the man boobs. Or Meat Loaf. You know _Fight Club_ , right?”

Even does. “Yeah.”

“That was some awesome shit, man. Brad Pitt was so hot in it. I swear, if I was into guys…” Magnus bites his lip, staring out in the room and then darting his eyes to Even. “You think Brad Pitt is hot?”

“Sure.” Even has to smile at the wild turns in Magnus’ conversation. “I always preferred Edward Norton though.”

“Really?” Magnus’ eyebrows shoot up, and he goes quiet for a second before he nods, slowly. “Well, he’s hot too. I guess. Anyway, at the end everyone was fucking crying and hugging, big group cuddle-style. You missed a wild one. Though maybe not as wild as your last meeting. You went OFF.”

He winces. “Sorry, Magnus.”

Magnus leans back in his chair, sweeping his hair back with one hand before continuing. “I thought you were gonna throw a chair but instead you were all cold and angry and shit.”

“I was angry.” Even lowers his head. “I was angry but that’s no excuse. I could have handled it better.”

“It’s okay, man. I know you didn’t mean it.”

That’s the thing—and the truth fills him with momentary shame—Even knows he absolutely did.

It’s silent for a short while until Magnus sits up straighter, watching him.

“Anyway, how are you doing, really? How’s Isak?”

“I don’t know.” Even takes a deep breath. “Not…not so good, actually.”

“Is he sleeping?” Magnus glances towards the bedroom door, tongue at the corner of his mouth.

A strange kind of warmth trickles through Even’s chest at Magnus’ choice of words.

 _Sleeping_. Not _in sleep mode,_ or _turned off._

 _He._ Not _it._

“No. He’s not home.”

Even takes a breath, thinking. Assessing how much he should let on.

It’s not like he can give Jonas away. For all Magnus knows, Jonas is just Adrian, just a dude who’s supposedly in love with some unknown bot. Not some kind of super designer turned teacher who also—kind of—helped make Isak. Or his female counterpart, at least.

He starts out carefully.

“Isak’s in service.” He sets his glass down. “For a checkup.”

“Okay. So…they’re gonna fix him?”

“Um. I don’t know. They don’t know. They…might not be able to.”

It’s the first time he’s said it out loud to someone else.

“Fuck.” Magnus sucks his lower lip in, nodding. “That sucks, man.”

“Yeah.” Even lets out a long breath, shoulders sagging down. “It fucking sucks.”

Magnus nods and chews, silent. Then he leans forward, elbows on his thighs as he looks up at Even under his low-hanging fringe.

“You know, he’ll come back to you. I’m sure he will.”

Even bites his lip. “You think?”

“Yeah, dude. That shit you’ve told us…it doesn’t go away. I’m sure he feels it, too. However it is that bots feel; just because it’s not like us, doesn’t mean they don’t, you know? If Isak’s meant to be with you, it will happen.”

That’s without a doubt the most philosophical thing Even has heard Magnus say, but somehow it doesn’t sound pretentious. Only like something he really, really wants to believe.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning against the backrest of the sofa. “That would be…wonderful.”

“It’s like Vilde says.” Magnus turns the palms of his hands up, then claps them together. “Even when the sun is out, the stars are there. Some new age shit, huh? But she’s right.”

“Vilde?”

Right. The bot Magnus is in love with. Like Isak's friend. He wonders if they're the same model.

“She says I’m her star.” The look on Magnus’ face is suddenly dreamy. “Can you believe it?”

“She sounds awesome.”

“Oh, she is. She’s the best. I think she's a special bot too.” Magnus’ smile is wider than ever. “You should meet her sometime. And maybe I can meet Isak when he’s back. Can I?”

Magnus looks like an excited puppy at the prospect, all big eyes, and even if the dread in Even’s chest isn’t gone, it subsides a little.

“Yeah,” he says and nods, smiling. “Let’s do that.”

* * *

The silence is less heavy after Magnus has gone. The apartment’s still empty, void of Isak’s presence, but Even feels a little…lighter somehow. He’s tired but not really sleepy, restless in an aimless sort of way.

He wonders what Isak is doing. If he’s awake. If Jonas is working on him despite the late hour.

He wonders what Isak and Jonas might talk about. If they talk about him. If they laugh, like when Jonas was here. If they’ve overcome whatever difficulties they apparently had in the past.

If Isak’s face lights up with that bright, joyful smile when he thinks of Even, or if he’s sad. If he misses Even at all.

He picks up his laptop, the light from the screen bright, and opens the chat with el_wright.

**Why did you start building a bot?**

**Is that question allowed?**

As always, it doesn’t take more than half a minute for the gray typing bubble to appear.

**the short answer? I wanted to prove that I could**

**Prove to who? And what is the long answer?  
**

**to myself, I guess  
**

**also, it was fun. rewarding. I thought something good would come out of my work.**

The typing stops for a short while.

**about the long answer…I’m gonna have to get back to you about that**

Even sits up straighter, suddenly curious.

**Why?  
**

**it’s a long story**

**I have time.**

The typing stops again. For minutes, there's nothing. Even’s starting to feel sleep tug at his eyelids and is just about to put the laptop away and go to bed when the screen lights back up.

**another time**

Even presses his lips together. He’d been expecting that. Then another message comes in.

****but I wanted to ask you how you’re holding up?** **

****I miss Isak a lot and I’m scared.** **

Seeing the words in the typing window doesn’t fill him with despair like he thought it would. In a way, it’s reassuring. Validating. That what he’s feeling is real. He presses send.

****I’m sorry** **

The typing stops, and reappears.

****tell me about Isak  
** **

****only if you want to  
** **

****I mean, do you want to tell me about Isak?** **

The mention of Isak’s name on the screen fills Even with warmth. Just like when Magnus used his name, only that this is…this is someone who knows Isak. Better than anyone. Better than Even, even.

****You already know so much about him. You made him.** **

****I did but that was a long time ago** **

****What happened? Why is there only one of him?** **

The screen goes blank for half a minute.

****it’s complicated** **

****Is this part of the long story?** **

****in a way** **

A minute’s pause, again.

****how would you describe Isak? what made you choose him?** **

Isak’s words echo in Even’s head. _You found us._

He pushes it away, and thinks of the store instead. The boxes. The tear in the cellophane, Isak’s open mouth.

****I almost bought one of the Adas first.** **

Another pause.

****really?** **

Even squirms a little.

****you probably won’t believe this, but I really wasn’t after a bot like that. A pleasure bot, I mean.** **

It pains him even to write that down. Isak isn’t that, he’s so much more, and el_wright must know that too.

****I just wanted to have someone to star in my movies.** **

****your movies** **

The dry statement makes Even laugh. He can imagine a deadpan expression on the other end, even if he has no idea what el_wright looks like.

(He wonders, too, why it feels less shaming than when Sonja came to the same conclusion. It’s words versus faces, he supposes. The power of the visual.)

****Not pornos.** **

****how comforting** **

****I'm serious! I used to direct.** **

****Short films about love, life, the usual.** **

****And I needed someone to help me. To get started again.****

****why did you stop?** **

He remembers Isak asking him the same thing, on that first night when Even set him up. How he wasn’t able to answer.

****It’s a long story.** **

****I have time** **

****I see how it is. The same rules don’t apply for you?** **

****nope** **

****Fine.** **

Even takes a deep breath. Considers.

This person knows nothing about him. Nothing, except for his first name and how he looks. And Even knows next to nothing about them. And somehow, it feels—safe. Freeing.

It’s not like they’re ever gonna meet, anyway.

****So.** **

Another deep breath.

****I’m bipolar.** **

A moment’s silence, before an answer appears.

****okay** **

Nothing else.

Just “okay.” As in, I heard you. It’s chill. Go on. Not _I’m sorry_ , or _What?_

****I’m not sure how much you know about bipolar disorder?** **

****some  
probably not enough** **

Another pause.

****Jonas probably told you that the Adas were created as carebots. So we did read up on that and other disorders. To be able to fit the owner’s needs accordingly.** **

Even smiles as el_wright’s messages start gaining capitals and punctuation. They must have slipped into professional bot designer mode.

****The idea was for the bots to care for their owners not as monitors, nursemaids, or wardens but as caring companions. We thought this would help with issues of noncompliance and resentment that might get in the way of treatment. These aren’t unjustified issues. We felt it was something that needed to be addressed, based on what we’d studied and** **

An even longer pause.

****observed.  
  
not that I’m saying that you’d need a bot to take care of you  
  
sorry. tell me what you were going to say** **

Even shifts on the sofa.

****Maybe you know some about what can happen during a manic episode.** **

****yes** **

****Well. I went to film school, once. A good one.  
  
And I had friends. Old friends and new friends that I used to collaborate with.  
****

****I don’t feel like going into details but I fucked up big time during my last year when I was manic.** **

Even pauses. No typing bubble from el_wright. They're waiting for Even.

****Some shit went down and  
things got really bad. It was hard to come back from that.  
** **

****I guess I’m ashamed.** **

****still?** **

****Yes.** **

****so you haven’t made any movies since then?** **

****A couple of shorts. Nothing special.** **

****were your old friends involved?** **

****No. I haven’t talked to them that much recently.** **

Adding _Not in years_ , and then deleting. **  
**

****did it help?** **

****Did what help?  
****

****getting Isak  
** **

****did you make any movies with him?** **

Even isn’t ready for this conversation. So, naturally, he answers.

****Yes.** **

The green of Isak’s eye; the baseball cap; Even dropping the camera. Then months later, at the park―the way Isak would startle, then go still, gifting the camera with a darting sidelong gaze that made Even laugh every time.

Funny how that is, even the first botched incident doesn’t feel embarrassing anymore.

Though perhaps that anecdote's not fit for sharing with the person who’s essentially Isak’s bot parent.

****was he any good?** **

****What?** **

****on film?** **

Again, Even answers truthfully.

****Yes.** **

**really?** ****that’s hard for me to imagine** **

****Of course he was.  
**** ****With that face?** **

****That’s all you need sometimes.  
A pair of great big eyes and a face you can look at forever.** **

****So yes, the answer to your question is: his face.  
****

****That is what made me pick him.** **

el_wright types and types until it stops, nothing comes through. It’s fine; Even needs a minute to get past how what he just said sits in his chest.

****you really like the way he looks, huh?**  
**

Even smiles.

****He’s not bad to look at.** **

****right** **

****I mean, you designed him. You don’t think he’s beautiful?** **

****I wasn’t thinking about that****

****fucked up with the teeth. don’t you think?** **

****No. The teeth** **

He thinks about Isak’s parted lips.

****are one of my favorite things about him.** **

****his lips are too thin** **

Even feels a flash of chivalrous irritation.

****His lips are perfect.** **

He doesn’t type “perfect against mine” because the thought alone is wildly romantic, sentimental, and completely inappropriate given the circumstances.

****perfect?** **

****Think of it this way****

****A photograph is about shapes, the positioning of those shapes, and what the overall picture makes you feel or think.  
  
Isak’s lips are a perfect visual counterpoint to his eyes. ** **

****His eyes are transparent, in that they can always be read  
but his lips are secretive.** **

****lol alright  
****

****I’m serious!** **

****When you designed those lips  
and programmed him to smile the way he does,  
you didn’t think their wide flare would be  
the perfect counterpoint? ** **

****How anyone looking at the combination  
would want to know which of those things is truer? ** **

****His face is a question you want to know the answer to.** **

****k** **

Even laughs at that insolent little k. Completely dismissive and somehow…he likes it. Because it’s flippant. Because it’s funny. Because…this is the first time, in a long time, where he feels someone is really listening to him without treating him with kid gloves.

****I sound crazy as shit, don’t I?** **

Perfect timing with the bipolar coming-out. He slumps forward, hitting his forehead with his phone. It chimes upon contact. Even looks at the screen.

****its****

*****it’s cool  
I jst never thought about it that way** **

****sorry for the typos** **

****so not to change the subject from “beautiful Isak” but  
****

****why not reach out to your friends now?** **

****What do you mean?** **

****enough time has passed. chances are they’ve come to terms with whatever you were embarrassed about.** **

Even scratches his nose. Decides to just go for it.

****What about you? Have you spoken to Jonas?** **

When el_wright doesn’t reply after a minute, Even adds, _I figured something must have happened between you two._

Another minute passes.

****what made you think that****

_Because Jonas asked me to email you,_ Even types rapidly, _he only said that you hadn’t spoken in a while. Nothing else._

Even’s heart beats quickly.

****Sorry if that’s rude. I didn’t mean to pry.** **

****it’s okay. it’s just that. like you, I haven’t really talked a lot about this. with anyone.** **

el_wright keeps typing for a long time, the bubble disappears, reappears. Even waits.

****you might have guessed that it had to do with the Adas. I wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of selling our work to an outside manufacturing company but Jonas was. you wouldn’t think so if you knew him but he had some stuff going on and he needed the money.****

**it wasn't entirely mercenary. Jonas has always been an idealist. he thought that by mass producing the line, the Adas would be more accessible to everyone who needed them. I don’t think he wanted to believe that what happened actually could happen.**

**I didn’t really take it well.**

****I know I told you I made my peace with what happened to them. and it’s true. but some things are hard to take back and I said stuff I’m not proud of. things I’m not sure he’s forgiven me for tbh.** **

He nods, understanding this keenly.

****I guess I’m ashamed, too  
****

****don’t know why I’m telling you all this** **

****you didn’t ask for the not very thrilling story of my friendship fails  
** **

Didn't he? Even sees this for what it is; a deflection. From someone who maybe needs this as much as he does.

****Not to change the subject but why don’t you reach out to him now?  
****

****Enough time has passed and that.** **

The dots flash for ten seconds or more.

****ha. I deserve that.** **

****Yes. Perhaps we both do.** **

They both go quiet for a bit. Even has no idea what just happened, but it feels important. Like something has been established between him and el_wright, only that he doesn’t know what yet.

He shifts on the couch, feeling how stiff his legs are. He’s been sitting in the same position for…an hour?

A glance at the computer clock tells him it’s past midnight. He hasn’t spared it a look since he sat down.

****Hey. I gotta go to bed. But I enjoyed talking to you.** **

****me too** **

****Just one thing before I go.** **

****This might be a little weird.  
I don’t know. ** **

****But I figured that you know my name and I don’t know yours.  
So if you want to tell me, I would like to know. ** **

****My name is Even Bech Næsheim.****

Ten seconds pass. Twenty. The computer clock ticks past another minute.

**Only if you want. No pressure.**

Outside the church bells ring. He'd forgotten it was Sunday. When he comes back from looking out the window, there's a message.

****it isn’t a weird thing to ask****

The typing dots blink for a few seconds more.

********my name is Adrian Eksett** ** ** **

********but you can keep calling me el_wright  
like you’ve been doing  
that’s cool** ** ** **

Eksett, not Eskett. The name blinks on the screen and Even laughs. Admittedly, it’s an unhinged sort of laugh.

Why lie? el_wright could have just said that they weren’t ready to share and Even would have understood. But lying…

He really thought that they were becoming friends.

Even’s tempted to ask how Barcelona is this time of year. Or just fuck with el_wright in some other way.

********please don’t Google me  
there’s really nothing to see** ** ** **

It reads so plaintively. Even presses his lips together.

********I won’t.** ** ** **

He totally will.

******I mean it when I say I like you******

******which is weird  
when I don’t know you** ** **

******and you’ve been having a relationship  
with a bot I built** ** **

********but I hope you understand** ** ** **

The apartment is so empty.

Even sends back a thumbs up emoji. He hates that he does.

* * *

On Monday, Even returns to work and his boss leaves him alone, doesn’t mention the promotion. He’s glad of it. He’s not ready.

He sits outside in the cold and smokes during his lunch break, googling “Illuminati bot founders” and getting hits for the company that wound up buying the Adas and mass producing them. He finds a photo of Jonas at a robotics event with his arm around another man. He reverse-searches the image and finds it again but this time with the caption “Illuminati team members Jonas Noah Vasquez and Mahdi Disi.”

Mahdi Disi. He’s shorter than Jonas, skinny, with a toothy, painful-looking smile. As if he’s gritting his teeth to do it. The son of Somalian immigrants. Born in Bergen, grew up in Oslo.

Weirdly, he doesn’t google Adrian Eksett. He does google Adrian _Eskett_ though and finds nothing. He doesn’t know why he keeps a promise he didn’t really make.

el_wright, not-Adrian-Eksett, probably-Mahdi-Disi messages him in the late afternoon.

**I spoke to Jonas  
well, messaged, like this**

**it was good though  
thank you**

**your turn**

Even doesn’t answer.

He goes home and looks at his old text messages to Isak. All those work day texts. Scrolls back to all the photos. Even sends him a message and hears the notification chime in the other room. Probably from inside the drawer of their bedside table where Isak’s phone is still kept.

_Their._

There’s no one else he wants to talk to right now besides Isak. No one.

* * *

Even had probably expected Isak’s absence to be less palpable with time. Instead, it’s rather the opposite—the nights are so dull and long and stretched out, the silence in the apartment so loud that it’s nearly unbearable.

All the time, he catches himself wanting to share things with Isak. A funny headline, a friendly dog in the park on his lunch break. The sour twinge inside his chest that follows keeps surprising him.

Magnus texts him once, to remind him to come to the meeting next Tuesday, that he’s welcome despite what went down, and Even gets the sudden impulse to call him and tell him how lost he feels, how lonely. How he doesn't know what to do with all the empty hours of all the empty days stretching ahead of him, all the way into nothing. How he’d gotten used to not being alone, and now that he is, he doesn’t know what to do without that feeling of belonging Isak gave him. How he’d thirsted for it for longer than he’d been able to admit.

He doesn’t though. Magnus is a nice guy, they’re friendly, but. He’s not someone Even can just dump everything on. This immeasurable grief, this thorny, messy jumble that is Even’s heart—who deserves that?

There are other notifications from Twitter, which Even has muted and stubbornly doesn’t respond to. el_wright is persistent however. Despite the lack of response, they keep sending questions, one-off observations, and images. Memes too, at all hours. None of them ask Even if he’s done what he’s supposed to. If he’s upheld his end of the bargain. Almost like that conversation never happened.

Even doesn’t let himself look at the messages for too long. Won’t let himself laugh.

He takes to carrying Isak’s notebook in his bag. Not to read it, he swore to never would. But it makes him feel like Isak’s close somehow.

The resentment he feels against el_wright or Adrian or Mahdi or whoever the fuck this person is doesn’t take away the fact that he’s playing with the thought of contacting his old friends. Not to have them carry any part of this burden, but just—to talk to someone who knows him, the way he used to be. Someone to mirror his old self. Maybe that way he can find a way to be only Even again, not Even who belongs to Isak who isn’t there anymore.

After a long quiet Saturday where Even circles the apartment not able to decide whether he should throw away Isak’s toothbrush or not, he just thinks _fuck it_ and pulls up his phone.

There’s no one else to take care of him now. He needs to do it himself.

He’d deleted his Messenger app since he last talked to any of the boys, and thankfully it doesn’t reload the old messages after reinstalling. He doesn’t know if he’d manage this if he had to read all that.

For some reason, Yousef feels like the easiest option. Even’s fingers tremble but he’s set on not chickening out, typing _Hey man. I know it’s been a while. but I just wanted to say hi._

That’s all he manages before he feels overwhelmed, so he just presses send and puts away the phone, heart thumping.

It takes less than a minute for his phone to ping.

**Even!**

**Man, it’s so good to hear from you!  
Thought of you just the other day  
That time you convinced us all to start dancing downtown for the tourists and Adam did that old school-style helicopter  
Sana didn’t believe me!! We were DOPE.**

**But enough about me! How are you doing?!  
**

**I’m okay.**

He hadn’t really planned past this—and it turns out he didn’t really need to. Yousef doesn’t ask for any specifics to begin with, just tells Even again and again that he’s happy to hear from him. Tells him about himself—still together with Sana, married for four years, parents to a two-year-old and another baby due in April. Works as a teacher, Sana is a biochemical engineer, already head of her department. Little house in Vålerenga. And then:

**We all miss you, you know.**

Even feels like his chest is hovering a decimeter above his stomach, like it’s lost the connection to the rest of him.

**Me too.**

In the end, he tells Yousef some of it. Not everything, nothing about Isak. Just the short version of the years following Even ghosting everyone. The belated gap year. The fourth break-up with Sonja. The apartment in Sagene. The fifth and final break-up with Sonja. His job. It’s okay.

Luckily, Yousef knows him well enough still not to suggest a hangout with all the boys. He does, however, tentatively ask Even if he’d like to meet up sometime.

It doesn’t feel like a giant leap to say yes.

When they do meet it’s not like a movie at all. The lighting is too dark and they wind up sandwiched between two of the loudest parties in the restaurant. Even can’t really fit his legs under the table. But it’s good. He had forgotten Yousef’s easygoing, infectious vibe. How chill it is to just hang with him.

“This is so great.”

Even looks up. “Yeah?”

‘Yeah.” Yousef sweeps his hair back. He still smiles with his whole body, leading with that quietly joyful face. “I’ve been hoping to hear from you. To the point where even Sana was like, call him, I bet he’d love to hear from you.”

“Oh, Sana didn’t actually make you do it?” Even laughs.

“Nah. Sana…is. The best.” Yousef’s smile shifts into something private. He purses his lips. As if he’s a little embarrassed by his good fortune and trying to contain it. “She understands me, you know? Sana doesn’t bully me. I know she has a reputation for being tough as nails but I mean, Elias would bring that out in anyone and I love the guy.”

“Truth.”

They high five solemnly and crack up.

“But yeah, she’s gentle, tender-hearted and kind. She’s my soulmate. You know?”

Even swallows down the pulse of emotion. “I do.”

Yousef covers Even’s hands with his. He’s always been like this, generous with affection and unafraid to love. Even’s so glad he messaged him. So glad that he might still have him as his friend.

“Even, my man, you’re one of the coolest people I know. But you’re cool without the distance, you get me?”

“No,” Even laughs and wipes at his eyes. “Not really.”

“It’s a good thing. You care. So much.” Yousef nods. “I think you need to care about yourself too.”

“I’m trying to.”

The smile unfurls anew. “Come over for dinner soon. Sana wants to see you and we both want you to meet Zeki. He’s an angel.”

Yousef texts Sana to arrange the best time, and Even gets a notification. From el_wright, again. An article about the ANITA project in Antarctica. The same article Isak mentioned weeks ago. Even swallows, his throat struggling to work. He manages to breathe past it.

**I’m at lunch with my friend**

****really?! that’s awesome** **

****I haven’t heard from you and I was worried** **

****is that weird? sorry** **

****I had all these questions and then I thought fuck that  
it’s not something he wants to deal with right now  
but yeah, I kind of got used to hearing from you** **

****I’ll leave you alone  
so glad you’re seeing your friend though** **

A gif comes through, two guys with horse masks on high fiving.

“What’s that?” Yousef motions for the check.

Even hesitates. “This person I know. A friend of a friend. It’s a stupid gif.”

He lifts his phone to show him and Yousef laughs, loud enough to turn heads at the tables around them. Yousef acknowledges them with a sheepish grin and a hand wave. A couple of diners wave back, charmed. **  
**

* * *

**  
** Work is interrupted with a non-stop barrage of texts from his friend Mutta, who heard from Yousef that they met and wants to meet up as well. Mutta is a sweet, excitable loudmouth and despite the goatee he’s grown―he sends Even five selfies in various nearly identical contemplative poses―he still projects childlike sweetness. Every time Even thinks about telling him he’ll text him _after_ work, Mutta will send him something ridiculous, like sketches of bunads with modern flair that he wants to have made because no one loves Constitution Day like Mutta. No one.

At some point, Elias is added to their chat and it doesn’t feel like an interruption. He’s making documentaries about the immigrant experience in Norway and immediately engages Even’s opinion, promising to send him some rough cuts.

Adam is last to join. He’s just gotten engaged and is hilariously taciturn as always. Just a _hey, bro. you’ll be there, right? don’t ghost my wedding invite._

Even says yes without thinking about it.

That night he receives a song from an unknown number. It’s the last of his crew—Mikael. His former best friend who moved back to Morocco and is helping run his family’s tourism business. Of all his friends, he’s the one with which Even can’t imagine getting back to where they were. But Even smiles at the song, “Can I Kick It?” and responds the way he’s supposed to―with another Tribe song. If that’s all he gets, it’s still more than he’s had in years. **  
**

In bed, he stares at his now-quiet phone, warm in his hand. He hasn’t heard from Jonas at all. He argues with himself over whether to reach out.

The notification snaps him out of his thoughts. **  
**

****how’s it going?**  
**

There’s a brief moment of hesitation when he considers ignoring el_wright, but then he types, slowly, with one thumb. **  
**

****Good.** **

****Still sad but good.** **

****You know that article about ANITA that you sent?  
Isak sent it to me too.  
****

****he did?** **

****Yes. At the time, I thought he was trying to share something he enjoyed  
but now I think he was trying to make me feel better  
by talking about infinite possibility  
It’s upsetting ** **

****why?** **

****To know that someone isn’t real  
and exists only to care for you  
That’s not what I wanted** **

****I should tell you something** **

A long time passes. Enough to make Even nervous. This is the moment, he thinks. This is when he’ll be told for certain that Isak cannot be fixed.

****my name isn’t Adrian** **

Even laughs out loud, lightheaded from the tension release of el_wright’s anticlimactic confession. The typing bubbles blink away.

****I’m not ready to tell you my real name but I’m sorry I gave you a fake one** **

****You don’t live in Spain then?** **

****what?** **

**Jonas already used that alias.** ****Though he said it was Eskett, not Eksett.****

****what the fuck?** **

****you knew?!** **

****Who has it right, I wonder?****

**me obviously**

**shit**

Even fluffs the pillow under his head, burrowing.

 **you should have called me out  
** ****you must think I’m such a dick** **

****fucking Jonas** **

****Don’t blame your friend for you not having your stories straight.** **

****I’m not lol  
but he would get the name wrong  
he’s so shitty with names  
you have no idea** **

****I think I do now.** **

****yeah so  
I’m not Adrian Eksett** **

****I’m sorry I can’t tell you more  
  
this is genuinely complicated** **

****I understand.** **

He does. When it comes down to it, Even is some guy who was having sex with this person’s bot. That’s the ugly truth. If this was a film without nuance, that would be the gist of it. He’s a man who was missing something in his life and couldn’t make it work with another human being, so he went to a machine. It’s depressing, but it makes it easier somehow. To let go of Isak, to know why he can’t know more about el_wright. He doesn’t deserve it.

****have you heard from Jonas yet?** **

****No.** **

****I spoke to some of my old friends though.** **

****We haven’t really discussed what went down  
but  
****

****Yeah. I did it. I reached out.** **

He’s drifting off a little and should say good night. His eyes close, then open at another notification chime.

****hey****

****know that Isak telling you about ANITA  
is not about him serving you or mirroring you  
he wouldn’t offer that to just anyone  
it’s not how he was programmed** **

****I think he wanted to tell you** **

****Will you ever tell me?** **

****what do you mean?** **

****Why Isak is as idiosyncratic as he is?** **

Even falls asleep before he can see a response. In the morning, it’s there. Simple and reassuring.

****I will** **

****I promise** **

* * *

The snow takes him by surprise.

Even had thrown on his sneakers to run errands after he got home from work. He’d agreed to visit his parents in Kristiansand for the 24th and wanted to pick up a few things from the Christmas stalls. His parents love handmade things, preferring them to anything else, so he'd hoped to buy them a couple of sweaters and maybe some mittens.

It’s only the 9th but he doesn’t want to rush. Even’s always loved the Christmas market, the smells and the anticipatory energy coming from the bustling bodies. The chalkboard signs with all their listed prices in white. The décor and twinkling lights. He stops at a cheese monger's and lets himself be talked into sampling a few. Even purchases one, a brunost, and remembers Isak’s friend and her shopping list. _What was her name?_ Vilde. He wonders if he should find her and let her know about Isak.

But let her know what exactly?

The matching sweaters are acquired and he toys with getting a third for himself but changes his mind. His parents fought hard to get where they were. They deserve their bubble of two.

There’s a dark red knit hat hanging on a hook; he lifts it gently.

“Isn’t it soft? That’s one hundred percent mulesing-free Merino, no acrylics,” the vendor tells him as she wraps up his purchase. She’s got brown hair done up in a bun and a kind smile.

Even grins back. “It is.”

“There’s a matching scarf and mittens.”

He rubs it between his fingers. “I love the color.”

“Do you want to try it on?”

“No, it’s not for me. It would be a gift.”

He can easily picture it on Isak’s head.

There’s an _ooh_ rippling through the market and he looks up just to see a fat, nearly-intact-in-its-geometry snowflake float past his face.

Another vendor turns up the Christmas song playing on a little portable radio hanging next to their wares and Even makes a wish, that he could have this with Isak. Just once.

Because he would love it so much. Even would help him walk here, wouldn’t tax his system, he only wants to be here in this swirl of snow and market smells, holding Isak’s hand as he tilts his face up to watch the snow.

He hears Isak’s laugh.

It can’t be right. It can’t be, and still his whole body is on high alert in an instant, heart thrumming and for a second, he’s frozen.

Then he hears it again. That hoarse, mid-pitched laugh that begins like a giggle and folds in on itself in throaty, almost-surprised delight.

He spins around, breathless—and there, there he is.

In front of a stall across the small square, face turned away from Even, but there’s no mistaking the blonde strands curling around a blue knitted beanie, or the squared shoulders under a black scarf, shrugging with another, quieter laugh at something the vendor says.

Even doesn’t think, he just starts. Heart in his throat, he pushes at the people in his way, tears his way in between them to get to Isak who is less than ten meters away, nine, eight, seven—

A tall, broad man steps in his way, and Even mindlessly tries to push past him. A sturdy arm comes up to stop him, and the man probably asks him what he thinks he’s doing, but Even only hears a jumbled protest from somewhere in the periphery.

The man turns toward him and Even cannot pass.

“Let me through!”

It’s like one of those dreams where one desperately tries to fight someone but no words come out, where running feels like treading through lead. He’s never heard his own voice sound so thin.

He ducks away and comes out on the other side, and Isak is gone.

He turns, stands up on top of his toes to look over the crowd to the exit on the right and the Christmas trees on the left, but there are only countless heads of meaningless, anonymous people.

“Isak!”

He doesn’t even know why he’s yelling it—surely, if Even cannot see him, he’s too far away to hear—but he can’t help it.

It was him. It _was_. It must have been.

Desperately, Even pushes through the crowd and up to the stall.

“The guy—the guy that was just here—where did he go?”

The vendor, a blond man in his late twenties, eyes Even with a mix of confusion and disinterest. “The guy?”

“Yes—blond, curls, blue beanie.” Even digs up his phone, breath short. “Here.”

He holds up the phone toward the salesman, showing him the lock screen picture. It’s one of his favorite pictures of Isak, one from their kitchen where Isak is looking up at Even over his shoulder while doing the dishes, wearing a toothy, private smile. Even doesn’t like to show it to just anyone, but.

“Just now?” The man shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“He was just here!” Frustration rises in his chest, bile and acid in a sickening mix, and Even’s neck feels cold, as do his fingers. “Less than a minute ago. Please-”

“Sorry, man. I meet a lot of people.” The vendor gestures toward a middle-aged woman tapping her credit card impatiently on the desk. “I’ve got other customers. So…”

Even doesn’t say thank you; he just turns and leaves. To the exit of the market and out on the less crowded street. The shop windows are alight with fairy lights bleakly illuminating the people walking by, tall and short and every shape but Isak’s. He’s nowhere to be seen.

The phone nearly slips from his hand as he dials Jonas’s number. It goes straight to voicemail. 

“I just saw him, Isak, at the market. What’s going on?! I haven’t heard from you and he was here. He was here. Call me back.”

As he leaves the message, he weaves through the crowd and no, nothing. **  
**

Even’s hands shake so violently that he’s barely able to type on his phone screen, the snowflakes falling on the glass making the letters look twisted and grotesque. **  
**

****I just saw Isak**  
**

The response from el_wright is near-immediate. **  
**

****what?  
** **

****I saw Isak! At Spikersuppa  
** **

****He was here and then he was just gone  
Jonas hasn’t told me anything  
what the fuck is going on?!!!  
If he’s out there, I need to know**  
**

The typing bubbles flash, then disappear for a few seconds, and Even’s heart thumps fiercely in his chest, causing him to almost drop his phone. **  
**

****I can’t just see him without warning  
Jonas has to tell me  
So I can be prepared  
Fuck** **

He looks around in every direction. Blue. His beanie was blue. The phone buzzes in his hand.

****Even  
you didn’t see him  
I promise** **

He types back furiously.

****Fuck you, Mahdi, or whoever you are  
I saw him  
I know what I saw** **

****please  
I swear I was going to tell you this earlier but Isak is at my house  
Jonas came over with him this morning  
because I’m going to be working on him now  
please don’t be mad  
** **

****Are you fucking serious?!!**  
**

He says it out loud and a man walking his dog looks at him as if Even’s cursed in front of his child. The dog tries to come closer but the man keeps going. **  
**

****Jonas wasn’t making any progress  
and he didn’t want to give you bad news  
I needed some time to decide whether I could do it** **

****Why wouldn’t you?  
I told you it’s not about me  
Isak doesn’t have to be with me  
but he deserves to exist  
I know that was him  
I’d know his laugh anywhere  
I’ll never forget it** **

The screen blurs, and Even tries to blink the tears away and the text into focus, tries to stand straight and breathe slowly, in and out, but nothing makes sense. Nothing. **  
**

****What the fuck  
I’m not crazy** **

A moment’s silence. **  
**

****I know**  
**

Another short pause, then, **  
**

****tell me what you saw  
** **

****I saw him from behind  
He was buying something from one of the stalls and was laughing at something the salesman said  
That was what made me notice him  
His laugh**  
**

Even wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. The tears are warm.

****I don’t know how to explain what you saw but Isak is safe with me  
** **

****promise** **

A house wall is hard against his side, the ground is turning white, and Even closes his eyes, breathing, pinching his nose. **  
**

****hello  
are you there****

****I know I lied to you about my name but this is true I promise  
** **

****Isak is at my house  
** **

****okay?**  
**

Even breathes in, out, in again. **  
**

****Okay **  
**** **

The tears keep running, he doesn’t really know why. He can’t seem to stop them. His cheeks are turning cold. ** ** **  
******

********are you alone?**  
** ** **

He huffs. Of course he is. ** ** **  
******

********Yes  
** ** ** **

********will you go home?  
** ** ** **

********I can’t  
I need to get my gifts  
They’re at the stall  
Fuck I just ran off ** ** ** **

********gifts?** ** ** **

********I bought sweaters for my mom and dad for Christmas**  
******

And then almost bought a hat for Isak and he appeared. _Oh God, he’s losing it._ ** ** **  
******

********okay, go back to the stall  
message me when you’re done**  
** ** **

He doesn’t dare look at the vendor lady. The hat and its matching scarf and mittens are by her till. “I wasn’t sure if you were interested…”

His voice is flat. “Yes, I’ll take those too. You don’t have to wrap them.”

After paying, he messages el_wright. ** ** **  
******

********I’m done.********

********please go home and get warm  
message me when you’re there**  
** ** **

A part of Even wants to protest, childishly, but there’s something about the pace, the tone of the messages that somehow makes it okay to start walking. He doesn’t reply though, just shoves the phone into his pocket. His thin-soled Converses slip on the ground, the snow is sticking, and it isn’t until he reaches the tram stop that he notices how numb his feet are. ** ** **  
******

The apartment is as quiet as ever. He feels ten years older than when he left this morning, chilled to the bone and exhausted from all the emotions: wild hope turned to desperation, despair and then fury, resignation, grief. ** ** **  
******

What he wouldn’t give for Isak to sit on the living room sofa right now, for him to turn his head with a delighted smile as Even would enter. For Isak’s embrace, his warm skin.

Isak. Isak would bring him to the shower and warm him up with his kisses and his words. Take Even to bed, hold him and love him and assure him that it would be okay. And Even would believe him. ** ** **  
******

He sinks down on the hallway floor, not bothering to take off his sneakers. His whole body hurts, feet and legs and heart and head, and he’s tired, so tired. ** ** **  
******

A chime from his jacket pocket. ** ** **  
******

********are you home yet?  
** ** ** **

********Yes  
** ** ** **

********I just got home** ** ** **

********good  
get dry  
it’s rough out there**** ** **

Even takes the red hat from his bag and holds it for a moment before stuffing it in his pocket.

The phone is cold in his hands. Typing is difficult, but he keeps on. Letter by letter. ** ** **  
******

********I just realized something  
Because bots can’t really feel  
Would it make someone who loves a bot, who lives with a bot and mostly spends time with them, less human?  
if I would have been able to keep Isak, would that make me feel less?  
I’m thinking maybe it would have been good for me  
I think I’ve always felt too much**  
** ** **

The screen goes blank for a moment, then lights up.

********maybe bots don’t feel in the sense that you or I feel  
but what would you say about Isak  
would you believe that he can’t feel anything? that he is void of feelings?**  
** ** **

There are so, so many words to describe Isak, but not _void_. Definitely not. ** ** **  
******

********No  
But  
** ** ** **

********but what?  
** ** ** **

********I mean, you made him. he responds to prompts.  
that’s what he does.  
If I needed someone to love me, he’d say he loved me. that’s it.**** ** **

********did Isak tell you he loved you?  
********

********Yes  
** ** ** **

********did you say it first?  
** ** ** **

********No** ** ** **

Even had been too scared. ** ** **  
******

********I didn’t program Isak to say I love you**** ** **

********without getting into too much detail  
it was something I thought about but didn’t do ** ** ** **

********Isak was designed to be a carebot of a specific sort but also a bit more********

********you may have prompted him somehow to say I love you  
it wasn’t something I set up though  
It’s not anything he would have said because you needed it** ** ** **

********those are the things that throw me  
with you, he did things for himself** ** ** **

********Isn’t that sentience?** ** ** **

********no********

********I think I accidentally stumbled onto an aspect of artificial consciousness that I’d never meant to program** ** ** **

********How do you do something like that “accidentally”?** ** ** **

********by not meaning to** ** ** **

Even stretches out his legs. They look ridiculously long in his gray jeans and his now gray sneakers. He brings a knee up, and unties the wet laces on one, then does the same with the other. His socks are also gray and wet and he removes those too. After a moment, he stretches out one of his legs and keeps the other one up. Even bends down to place his forehead against his thigh. Stubbornly, he types again.

********I saw him** ** ** **

********I know** ** ** **

********Don’t humor me** ** ** **

********I’m not  
I lost someone too  
and I saw them everywhere after** ** ** **

********That’s not the same thing  
I saw him, I really did** ** ** **

********I know** ** ** **

Even rubs at his eyes. There are so many things he wants to know but doesn’t dare ask. All of them boiling down to if there really is any chance for him. If Isak might come back, or if he won’t. What el_wright knows and doesn’t tell him.

********If I saw him in a crowd of people like I did today, but without knowing that he was a bot  
I'm not sure I would have known** ** ** **

********I’ve seen other bots and known what they were right away  
** ** ** **

********Why is that?  
** ** ** **

********Why is Isak different?** ** ** **

********I can’t stop asking myself that.** ** ** **

Nothing happens for ten seconds. Nervously, Even picks at his cuticles.

********okay  
** ** ** **

********I’m just not sure how to answer this  
because  
in a way  
he isn’t different  
when it comes down to it he still is a bot  
a machine  
** ** ** **

********but I think  
maybe because I worked on him for so long and tried out a lot of different ideas on him  
as a kind of prototype  
he might be more contradictory than the average bot  
and I guess there’s more humanity in being contradictory  
than not** ** ** **

A moment’s pause.

 **Isak’s been in sleep mode since he got here**  
**I haven’t activated him yet**  
**but I will let you know when I do and** **how it goes**  
**if you want me to**

**Yes.**  
**I think I want that.**

**then I will do it**

It brings Even a measure of peace to know that he’ll be told. He could be okay with this. He would be okay.

********one more thing  
********

********you’ve probably guessed that Isak wasn’t meant to be sold  
but somehow it happened  
and when I first understood that he’d probably been reprogrammed as a pleasure bot and that you’d bought him like that  
it really was a lot  
** ** ** **

********but now, after talking to you more  
knowing how you see him  
how you feel about him  
it feels okay  
  
I’m glad it was you that found him** ** ** **

Even holds the phone still in his hand, staring at the words. He stares at them for so long that the screen fades to gray and he has to touch it with his thumb to light it up again. The text is still there.

It’s like something settles in him, reading it. For the first time, he feels glad for it, too. Whatever will happen with Isak, even if Even has seen him for the last time, loved him for the last time, he’s glad that he found him. He’d rather be here, having known and loved Isak, than not.

********Thank you.** ** ** **

He rubs at his eyes, wet at the corners, but the tears aren’t only from grief. Part of him feels warm, like a sort of relief. A reassurance.

********And thank you for talking to me** ** ** **

********I’ve been refusing to think about the fact  
that I have lost him  
Like, really, really lost him** ** ** **

********I read that it takes seven years to get over the loss of someone  
That feels too short** ** ** **

********I’m sorry I freaked out** ** ** **

********no need to be sorry** ** ** **

********there is no timeline for that  
I know firsthand  
anyone who says there is doesn’t know shit** ** ** **

********I’m not Mahdi Disi by the way. he owes me money.** ** ** **

********Really?** ** ** **

Even laughs despite the tears.

********kidding** ** ** **

********I wouldn’t lend anyone money** ** ** **

********I see.********

********You’re a cheap robot designer.** ** ** **

********fuck you, I’m so generous** ** ** **

Even laughs again. He hasn’t laughed in a while, it seems, so each laugh startles him a little. It keeps happening as the messaging goes on and the conversation moves on to Netflix shows and current events, the weather, food. At some point, it occurs to him that el_wright is talking him down still, that this isn’t a real conversation, that he’s being placated, but then el_wright argues or challenges something Even says and the anxiety disappears. Isak had agreed with him most of the time, if not all.

He’s enjoying this. It's…company.

********If I wasn’t some guy that was in a relationship with a bot you made would you want to meet me?** ** ** **

********yes** ** ** **

It’s so fast, his reply, that Even smiles.

********but you are  
********

Even stands up slowly, leaves his wet sneakers by the door, but grabs his socks. Creakily makes his way over to his bedroom. He deliberates for a moment before throwing the socks in the hamper instead of hanging them over the bathtub.

********I think we will have to eventually though** ** ** **

********If Isak is repaired? Afterwards?** ** ** **

********yes or before  
it’s complicated** ** ** **

********You’ve said.** ** ** **

He looks at his bed. It’s wrinkled on one side only. Gingerly, he stretches out, sighing as he does so.

 ************Can I give you a name?************ ************Since you can’t tell me yours yet?** ** ** ** ** **

************sure  
just don't call me dickhead or something** ** ** ** ** **

************Dickhead does have a pleasant ring to it.** ** ** ** ** **

************don’t** ** ** ** ** **

************Jerkface?** ** ** ** ** **

************no** ** ** ** ** **

************No? Okay. I’ll call you something else.** ** ** ** ** ** ********** ** ** **

The shadows on the ceiling seem to shimmer. The snow has given way to rain.

************That person that you lost.** ** ** ** ** **

************Was it your mom?** ** ** ** ** **

************yes** ** ** ** ** **

Of course. Grief knows grief.

Even saw Isak tonight but it wasn’t him. There’s meaning to this. The woolen hat was in Even’s fingers, he was thinking about him and there was his laugh. It must have been a message from the universe. A calm descends over Even. It’s not sadness, but resignation. All will be well, just not the same.

************Even** ** ** ** ** **

************you can call me whatever you want** ** ** ** ** **

His eyes droop. Even puts his arm down on the bed, stretched out over to Isak’s side, phone still clutched in his hand.

He’s only going to close his eyes for a minute. Then he’ll think of a name. Only a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible content warnings for this chapter: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
> 
> We 💕 you. Thank you for reading, commenting and kudos-ing.


	8. The "B" Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> el_wright sends a photo. Mistletoe hanging from a doorway. Even wonders if el_wright’s expecting company.  
>   
> Then remembers. Isak. Isak is his company.  
>   
>  **Happy Christmas, el_wright!**  
>   
>  _And Happy Christmas, Isak_ , he wants to add. _I miss you._  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please scroll down if you're worried about any squicks or triggers—no archive warnings apply, though.

The week moves so quickly, Even can’t even believe that it’s his life. He goes to Vålerenga to visit the Bakkoush-Acars and meets Zeki, who has his mother’s beautiful eyes and his father’s spindly energy. Zeki zips around from room to room, giggling out of Yousef’s grasp. A radiantly pregnant Sana takes Even on a tour of their unusual home―two small houses with a courtyard between them. They’re slowly remodeling the one in the back by themselves and are temporarily crammed into the one that faces the street.

In their hallway, a book on the console table catches Even's eye; he moves it closer with his fingertips. _The Golden Ratio Coloring Book and Other Mathematical Patterns Inspired by Nature and Art_. He flips the pages and it’s full of intricate patterns, tessellation art.

“Sana, I didn’t know you enjoyed adult coloring books.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s from my idiot friend who doesn’t quite understand what two-year-olds want for their birthdays.”

Even laughs. “What do they want?”

“Bubbles. A dragon.”

“I see.” Even picks up the book. “Can I have it?”

Smiling, Sana snatches it back and tucks it under her arm. “Absolutely not. Come on, let’s go eat. Yousef made your favorite.”

During post-dinner mint tea, Yousef gets a text and slides his phone over to Even. It’s Elias, asking if he can stop by and say hi. Even nods and this is how he winds up hugging Elias for nearly ten minutes by their front gate. Elias is not effusive usually―he was a cool teen turned cool adult. But Even understands that this is something that neither of them could have expected a few years ago. Even hadn’t expected to come back.

Again, it’s not like a movie. Or if it is, it’s not one he’d direct. There’s no styling. Yousef runs off to change a diaper at one point. But it’s lovely and warm. Elias gives him a ride home and they listen to Crank Yankers bootleg mp3s in the car like adolescents and cry with laughter. When they get to Even’s, Elias turns to him and says, “If you ever think I don’t want to talk, you have to tell yourself you’re wrong. Got it, bro?”

“Got it.”

“Good. I expect you over for dinner soon too. I’ll send you the info.”

“Sounds good, man.”

And it was good.

**Better than I expected.**

Even’s kicked off his shoes and is spread out on the bed, still dressed, messaging with el_wright.

**congrats!**

**Two good friends seen in one week.  
Maybe I’ll see another when I get back.  
givin' ends to my friends, and it feels stupendous**

**biggie?  
nice**

**Are you a fan?**

**Relax and take notes, while I take tokes of the marijuana smoke  
Throw you in a choke, gun smoke, gun smoke**

**Did you just Google that, then cut + paste?  
Impressive.**

**THAT’S A DEEP CUT**

Even laughs, clutching the phone to his chest.

**Okay, okay.  
You’re a real fan.**

el_wright responds with a Tupac “Go ahead I ain’t mad atcha” gif.

**Tupac AND Biggie. Edgy.**

**Just trying to bring the peace**

He’s trying to peel his sock down with his toe.

**I can’t believe you’re an old school hip hop fan. Though that explains a few things.**

**oh did Botsak rap for you?**

**Yes, he was excellent.**

**I used to love blasting old school hip hop back when I was a surly teenage boy.**

Even’s eyebrows go up. They always seem to when el_wright drops some morsel of personal information. Like the fact that he lives alone. In a house, not an apartment. No pets. No partner. Hates broccoli.

**And now that you’re a surly adult man, you listen to…No. 4?**

**fuck you  
I’m not surly**

**and what’s wrong with no. 4?**

Even cracks up.

**Nothing.  
I like them too.**

His other sock comes off. He wiggles his toes at himself.

**where are you going?**

**What do you mean?**

**you said you were going away in a week…  
holiday trip?**

**Going to see my parents for Christmas.**

**oh that’s nice**

**Yeah.  
You?**

**me?**

**Any plans for the holidays?**

**no, just me  
well, me and Isak  
Isak and I  
whatever**

Images of Isak in a Christmas sweater wrapping presents with el_wright, also in a Christmas sweater, flash in his head. el_wright looks like circa- _Trainspotting_ Ewan McGregor. Even likes to assign different faces to him. Erna Solberg, Joachim Trier, Øystein Bache. Today he’s a hot Scotsman. Why not?

**I’m jealous.**

**ha  
sorry**

**No, I mean it.  
I think the two of you would be the best company.**

After typing, Even thinks maybe that came across wrong.

**I don’t mean that in a sexual way.**

**thanks for clarifying**

**My pleasure.**

Even winces.

**Also not sexual.**

**lol**

It’s weird, thinking that Isak is there, with el_wright, at this moment. Even wonders if, when activated, Isak will recognize his maker, just as he recognized Jonas. What he would think if he knew that they were texting.

**So how was it to see Isak again?**

**You said you hadn’t seen him in so long.**

**Was he like you remembered him?**

Bots don’t change with age, do they? Isak looks he’s in his mid-twenties. But how old is he really? Did he age differently in terms of acquired knowledge? What was it that el_wright called him?

_A bit more._

**it was special**

**I worked on him for a long time**  
**as a program even, before he had form**

**in a way it felt like seeing an old friend**  
**or if I say that it was like reuniting with someone or something I hadn’t faced in a long time? familiar but strange? does that make sense?**

**I haven’t rewatched any of my old movies in a long time**  
**but back when I used to it felt a bit like that.**

**I gave them a part of myself and it was still there but it hadn’t aged with me.**

**yes**  
**like that**

It’s nice to think of Isak as el_wright’s film. A beautiful debut. A gem.

**so where do your parents live?**

**Kristiansand.**

**that’s what**  
**like five hours by train?**

**Four by bus.**  
**Can I message you while I'm away?**

**sure I’d like that**

**Cool.**

Even would like to get him a Christmas present. Would that be weird? What do you get a person like el_wright?

**Should I take the train instead of the bus?**

**yeah better views, better seats  
** **more leg room**

Is el_wright tall? 

**just googled it, four hours and thirty  
get a comfort seat**

Even takes the advice. 

**Okay, train tickets acquired.**

**good**

**I’ve always wanted to go to the zoo there**

Even laughs, remembering the first time he visited his parents after they moved. He’d gone with Mikael and Mutta, they got high and wandered around Kardemomme by, cracking each other up.

**I used to love going there high. Do you smoke?**

**yeah but haven’t in a while  
I’d like to but it’s not something I do alone**

**I’d like to as well.**

He doesn’t say, _with you maybe. You’re kind. We could go to the zoo._

**The zoo has an amusement park attached, they do a pirate show.  
I like going alone sometimes to lose myself in the crowd.  
I wonder if it’s even open now.**

**hey Even, I’ve been meaning to ask**

**how did you know about my mom?**

**The Star of Bethlehem.**

**I knew that had to be true.**

Even imagines clouds on his ceilings. He’s always wanted to do that. Paint a sky up there. Now he knows he’d add the Evening Star, which is no star at all.

**I activated Isak today**

Even sits up, suddenly much more awake.

**Really?  
What did he do? What did he say?**

While he waits for the reply and to dissipate a bit of the burst of energy that comes with el_wright’s news, Even climbs out of bed and paces at the window, watching the beginning of another snowfall as it casts its slow white spell over the garden allotment cottages across the street. His phone chimes.

**he smiled and said his name.**

* * *

Before leaving the city for his parents’ place, Even makes plans to meet with Magnus to go buy a Christmas tree. He knows Isak won’t see it, but the promise must be kept. Magnus greets him at the main entrance to the market, practically vibrating with excitement.

“I’m here with Vilde! Make me look good and uh, don’t mention the b word.”

“Bunads?”

Magnus laughs. “No, bro. Bot.”

“Right. Got it.”

They walk toward the area where the trees are and a girl with long blonde hair turns around. She’s wearing a pink hat with a fat pom-pom on it.

“Hi! Even!”

“Hi!” Even remembers that smile. “Vilde! Isak’s friend.”

Magnus stares between the two of them, mouth open. “You know his Isak?”

Vilde nods happily. “Yes, Isak and I are old friends. So nice to see you again, Even.”

“Yes, you too.” Even wonders briefly if all the Vildes share data. If they all know him. Or only this one. Isak’s Vilde.

“Holy shit, how crazy is that?” Magnus looks at Even like he might explode with excitement. “Your Isak is friends with Vilde!”

What a small world. Even knows he should come up with a story to tell Vilde in case she asks about Isak but she doesn’t. She only has eyes for Magnus and then for Christmas trees. She proves to be an excellent judge of a good tree and gleefully tells them she follows a woman on Instagram who gives tree-purchasing tips. Vilde takes off her gloves to show Even the profile on her phone and there’s a nasty bruise on her wrist and forearm.

He almost reaches for it. “Ouch. What happened?”

“I had a bad fall the other day, it goes all the way up my arm. It looks worse than it is. I’m glad it’s winter and no one can see,” she says with a blush. “Here, this is it.”

Even pretends to look through the photos of Christmas wreaths and artfully arranged glasses of gløgg, but keeps an eye on her movements. Then her face. A pimple she’s almost successfully hidden with concealer. The way she smiles at Magnus when he isn’t looking.

At some point, Isak had made a _human_ friend. Even can’t wrap his head around it.

They get the Christmas tree wrapped up and back to his. He doesn’t expect them to, but they stay and help him decorate it. He hands the tree topper to Vilde, who gets on her tiptoes to put the last piece in place: a tacky blinking star in red, green, yellow, and blue.

* * *

The train has decent Wi-Fi, and Even is grateful to be able to chat with el_wright instead of reading the book he’d impulsively bought for the trip, since it turned out to be a snore.

el_wright’s been sending him Isak updates for the past few days. How Isak stayed awake for nearly five hours. Shown him some dance called ‘The Madison’ and explained the steps in French. That he’d talked about Even.

**all good things**

**Good.**

Even takes a deep breath.

**When will you delete me from his memory?**

**not yet  
don’t worry I will tell you**

**Thank you.**

There’s an hour long lull and Even stares out the window. Resists answering work emails. A few seats over, a baby wails. Its mother lifts up her shirt and positions the baby’s head on her breast. It immediately stops crying, its tiny hand groping at her wooly sweater before settling there like a starfish on a reef. A couple of young women make disgusted faces at the sight. When one of them, slender with dark bangs and darker red lipstick smiles at Even, he pointedly returns to his phone. There’s a follow request on Instagram from Vilde.

He’s about to snoop through her followers list to see if they have any mutual friends when his phone chimes with a Twitter messaging notification.

**he asked me about my mom today**

**Isak knew your mom?**

**yes**

There’s no reply past that but Even keeps staring at his phone. Waiting and…worrying.

**What happened?**

**the funny thing is that I’d been afraid to tell him**

**I don’t know why  
it’s not as if he’d care  
but if he could care it would be about her**

**I’m sorry  
and you obviously  
he’d care about you  
I know that**

**It’s okay. How did it go?**

**he was fine  
I wasn’t**

**I haven’t cried like that in a long time  
Isak put his arms around me  
and then he powered down**

**which is kind of amusing I guess**

**something for one of your movies**

Even shakes his head. el_wright’s stark little messages look desolate.

**I’m so sorry.  
I know this is an odd thing to say but I wish I was there with you. I would hug you too.  
believe that.**

He closes his eyes and wishes him love, this faceless stranger. Whether el_wright meant to or not, his constant messages, memes, and jokes have helped Even see some light despite the darkness of winter. Have made him feel like he could be okay.

**Did you feel that? My hugs transcend time and space.**

**you’re a good person, Even**

The message takes him by surprise. Even’s bottom lip juts out involuntarily, like he might cry.

Maybe he is, if you overlook the whole in love with a robot thing. Even has never been short on empathy but does that make him a good person? He’s not sure el_wright knows him well enough to say.

Another message notification.

**you are**

As if he’d sensed that Even hadn’t quite believed him.

Even sends him a photo. Of the Christmas tree before he left. Then another. A mountain view from the bus. Sends him more photos over the following days. The calm crescent of Bystrand beach. A quiet boardwalk. The painting of a horse that faces Even’s bed and that he’s convinced is there to stop him from masturbating. Mariah Carey in a super low cut red gown from some Christmas thing on TV. Mom in the sweater he bought her, reading the latest Elena Ferrante. His father, sitting inside wearing aviator shades and Christmas slipper socks.

**ha I can see you  
reflected in your dad's sunglasses  
is that a No-Face t-shirt?!**

**Fuck yeah!  
Do you like Miyazaki?**

**when I was in middle school**

**I can’t tell if that was supposed to be a burn.**

**lol, no  
those movies are cool**

**Which do you like best?**

**back then, totoro  
now? I don’t know  
howl probably**

Then el_wright sends a photo. Mistletoe hanging from a doorway. Even wonders if el_wright’s expecting company. Then remembers. Isak. Isak is his company.

**Happy Christmas, el_wright!**

_And Happy Christmas, Isak_ , he wants to add. _I miss you._

**happy christmas, Even**

A couple of days after returning to Oslo, Even has dinner with Elias and his fiancée, Berit. In true squad form, Mutta crashes and gets Even to agree to come over to his place.

He suspects he’ll keep getting passed around like this for the rest of this endless winter.

Mikael texts a song. “99 Luftballons.” Even responds with “Der Kommissar.” There’s nothing after that. Mikael never appreciated the genius of Falco.

**we watched a movie today, Isak and I, though he fell asleep before it ended**

Even smiles, imagining Isak with his long, long lashes. His open mouth.

**What did you watch?**

**the wedding singer**

**Ugh**

**not a sandler fan?**

**No, it’s not that.**

The kettle starts to shriek and Even takes it off the burner before it wakes up his neighbors. He usually doesn’t have a cup at this hour but the caffeine in green tea shouldn’t keep him up too late. He drizzles some honey in and stirs, licking his fingers when he’s done.

**A couple of my friends are getting married. It feels like I’m going to be the last man standing.**

**I know what you mean. some of my friends are starting to have kids. I don’t think ever will. I’m not really a child person. I don’t know how to talk to them.  
**

**I hear they like dragons.**

**lol**

**I understand though. My ex wanted kids and she thought I would change my mind.**

**she’s pretty  
your ex**

Even grins, taking a sip of his tea before typing.

**Are you stalking my social media?**

**no**

**You are.  
Huh.  
You must like me.**

**why did you break up?**

Even laughs out loud.

**Which time?**

**there were multiple times?**

He looks down into his tea cup. There's mostly tea dust at the bottom, not leaves. Nothing to read there. Even sighs.

**Sonja and I have been on and off for half of my life.**

**wow**

**But, and this is the sad part, ours is not an epic love affair.**

**I think we kept coming back to each other because we know one another.  
I don’t even mean in the deep sense. It’s hard to explain.**

**We’re better friends than lovers. She’s overly practical and pragmatic and I’m a dreamer. I thrive on possibility, she likes expected outcomes.**

**I see**

**She’s controlling. I chafe against that.  
And I burn dinner sometimes  
because I’m laughing at something on my phone.**

He winces and takes another long sip before trying to explain again.

**That’s an oversimplification.  
I like control as well.  
She’s a good person. I mean that.  
Sonja can come on a little strong but that’s because she has integrity.**

Outside his window, he can hear his neighbors on their terrace. He turns on the television. Not to watch but for the white noise.

**that’s a nice thing to say about an ex**

**very mature**

**Is it? Ha ha ha.  
**

**I haven’t always been this charitable and adult about our relationship.**

**Does that make me less mature?**

**at least you admit it**

**I respect that**

He returns to the kitchen and washes his cup. His phone buzzes in his pocket. Even turns off the light and stands there in the dark of the living room. He looks at his screen.

**I don’t even get that far**

There’s nothing for a while. Then there’s a photo of fireworks through a window. In the glare of the glass, Even can just make out a tie.

**I guess I’m a ‘forever alone’ person**

**I guess I am too. Let’s start a club.**

***high five emoji***

He looks at the photo again.

**Happy New Years, el_wright!**

**happy new years, Even**

* * *

New Years should mean new beginnings, Even knows. He remembers thinking of this last January, a year ago—how he, fairly newly broken up and friendless and bored, never thought anything would change for him ever again.

If he’d only known what this past year would bring. Everything between the brightest happiness and the deepest despair, and it’s already behind him.

For once, he has no idea what to expect from the months ahead of him. If he dares to hope for Isak to come back to him, or if he should steel himself for the harsh truth.

But, also, this is the first time in years the new year brings something to look forward to. Suddenly, there are friends. Old friends, and new. Between work and meetings and hangouts, there’s less time to feel lonely. The bone-deep ache for Isak that he carries with him everywhere is unchanged, but it’s almost manageable when he’s surrounded by people. People who care. Who text him and call him and wonder how he’s doing. They’re not Isak, no one is, but they help.

Inside his bag, he still carries Isak’s notebook. He thinks he’ll give it to el_wright, should they ever meet. Have him glean whatever clues he can from all that cramped handwriting.

Sometimes, el_wright sends him updates on Isak, but between those updates they text on and off. About everything and nothing. Big things and small. Even’s gotten used to seeing a _good morning_ on his phone as he wakes up, a _good night_ when he’s brushing his teeth. They know each other’s routines now, and it helps too. It’s something to hold on to. Like an invisible but not imaginary friend.

Even the days when Even mostly wants to stay under the covers aren’t quiet anymore. Like today, an iron gray day in February when everything’s been on the darker side, his phone still beeps on the bedside table with astonishing regularity. Pings from the group chat on and off during the day. At night, a message from Magnus asking if Even might want to come back to meetings at some point, maybe next week and does Even think Magnus should ask Vilde to come? Also, did he know Adrian’s name is actually Jonas? _Should we be using fake names, bro?_

Even frowns—how did Magnus find out?—and is just about to text him back to ask when a notification drops down from the top of the screen. el_wright.

**free tonight?**

Even raises his eyebrows. This is new.

**Uh, yes?**

**omgfr  
*OMG  
FUCK  
wrong app  
just igonre that  
*ignroe  
fuck it  
shit Even I’m sorry  
I’m a little drunk**

Even sits up, a curious smile pulling at his mouth.

**No shit.**

**fuck  
*hiding monkey emoji***

**Ha ha don’t worry  
It’s cool.**

**I ws gonna tell you that I’ve been out with Jonas tonihgt actually  
bug my drunk thumb messed up **

**You hung out with Jonas? That’s nice.**

**it was  
it relaly was  
and I wanted to thank you  
for bringing us back together  
Even  
it was a good thing**

Even thinks of that first night he talked to Jonas on the bench, when he thought Jonas might be coming on to him. Jonas’ casual denial, without a hint of offense but also completely without interest.

**I’m glad  
You’re welcome  
As a thank you gift you might let me know what app you were trying to use?**

Not that Even is the least bit offended that el_wright apparently wants to get out there and get laid. It’s just—it _is_ funny. And a little intriguing.

**uh  
no**

**It’s okay, Eivind.  
Going home early to play Wordfeud is completely socially acceptable.**

**fuck offf Even  
I’m not 50  
for the record though  
if I was  
i would be the wordfeud champion**

**The champion, really.**

**you bet  
winner of the 20212 Wordfeud awards  
thatsme**

**So wordfeud it was then.**

**my name wouldn’t be eivinfd  
*eivinf  
fuck can’t type  
Eivind**

**Good job.  
And it only took three tries. A texting champion.**

***middle finger emoji***

Even catches himself smiling at his phone. This is _fun_. He picks up another pillow, squeezing it in behind his neck.

**Actually  
It’s kind of a shame that I can’t see your face  
because I would really like to see the profile you’re using together with that pickup line.  
Let me guess  
your Tinder profile song would be…**

**My Heart Will Go On.**

**shut up**

**What’s the matter?**

**You don’t like ‘90s ballads?**

**I’m offended.**

**I thought we had something going here.**

Even bites his lip as he sees the words on his screen. Does it sound…a bit too much? Flirty even? He isn’t flirting. He definitely isn’t.

el_wright doesn’t seem to mind though, just keeps typing.

**who even has profile songs, this isn't my space**

**I don’t know, Torbjørn?  
People on Tinder?**

**like id know  
torbjørn that’s even worse than eivind**

**So…I’m guessing something with less finesse than Tinder.**

**fuck you  
I have finesse  
so much finess**

**I’m sure you do.**

Even can’t stop chuckling at his phone. el_wright’s lack of filter and drunk admissions are hilarious. But it also makes him feel a little…superior.

Phone in hand, he walks over to the dresser and pulls out the top drawer, and—there it is. A small bag of weed tucked neatly into a plastic box beside his socks.

He hasn’t smoked since he got Isak, since they couldn’t do it together, but now feels like the time.

**Hang on.  
Two minutes.**

As the comfortable buzz from the weed settles into his limbs and the tendrils of smoke float overhead, Even sinks down into the pillows again. He pulls up his phone and a string of messages is waiting for him.

 **why  
anyway jsyk my profile pic has the most finesse  
and if you could see it you’d understand  
but now you can’t see it  
** **so  
** **anywya**

**tho  
maybe youd like it  
ha ha ha  
oh my god  
you’d totally like it  
oops  
nevermind**

**I would?  
Now I’m curiuso  
*curious  
Sorry  
I smoked some and now my fingers have all turned into thumbs.**

**faded?**

**Faded.**

**kendrick;s so good. me too  
cool  
but anyway**

**Oh no.  
Wait.  
Is your profile pic not your face?**

**who even has their face on grindr Even????**

Even sits up in victory.

**Grindr.  
Gotcha.**

**So that’s what you’re up to  
** **Get it, el_wright**

el_wright doesn’t type for a minute. Even waits, smiling smugly. This narrows the demographic.

**uh I mena  
*mean  
I hope thats cool with you**

**It’s no problem.  
I have a Grindr account myself.**

It slips out of his fingers before he means it to. But it’s too late to take it back and anyway, fuck it. They’re on the same level now.

**cool  
so what’s your profile pic then  
**

**My face?  
**

**ive seen your face  
your allowed to**

What does el_wright mean by that? If Even didn’t know better, he might blush.

**So, Asbjørn, if not your face  
then what?  
Abs? Chest? Just your upper body?  
Oh wait. Of course.  
*Eggplant emoji***

**Even wtf  
I dont have my dick as my profile pic okay**

**You’re allowed to be the guy with his dick out  
It’s fine**

**shut up**

**Though I know not everyone has a dick that’s fit for showing  
and that’s fine too.**

Even knows just how to play this.

**its not like it isn’t fit for showing  
I mean  
mwaybe I dont want to**

**Look, Bødvar  
It is perfectly okay if you have a small dick.**

**fuck off  
I do not have a small dick  
my dick is the best dick**

**Is it really?**

Even’s smile creeps upwards. el_wright’s so easy to goad.

**maybe you are not familiar with this concept Even but I am the master of dick**

**A dick master!  
What?  
How exactly is someone a master of dick?**

**fuck off Even  
yu know what I mean**

**No I don't.  
Please explain.  
I can't wait to hear!  
Is it that you know what to do with your own dick? Or you know how to handle dicks…generally?**

**both of course**

And there it is. el_wright likes dicks, can handle them. It’s ridiculous of course, as a statement and in theory, but somewhere in there, Even can’t help but feel a tickling sense of interest.

**Can you provide examples?  
Pretend this is a job interview.  
Name three times you were a master of dick. Be specific.**

**just forget it okay**

**Or are you more of a master…  
bator**

**oh fuck right off**

Even can’t help it, his stomach is tense with laughter and his eyes full of tears.

**I’m sorry  
I’m sure you’re an excellent cock handler**

**omg no**

**Too crude?**

**Would you prefer…Snake charmer?**

**SERPENT WRANGLER**

**why am I still talking to you**

It’s a good question. Why is el_wright still talking to him? Even rolls over onto his stomach, he feels pleasantly lax.

**So what were you looking for tonight?**

**I dont know  
just sex**

Even shifts, unbuttoning his pants. The button is digging into his stomach.

**Do you have people come to you  
or do you go to them**

**I go to them**

**do you kiss?**

**sure**

**That’s my favorite thing to do  
What’s your type?**

**short  
really jacked  
dark-haired**

el_wright answers quickly and precisely. Even laughs.

**That’s specific.**

**why wouldnt “my type” be specific  
I don’t know**

**what’s yout type?  
*your**

Even closes his eyes.

**Isak**

**yes?**

**Isak’s my type**

el_wright doesn’t reply and Even thinks that maybe he lost him. He licks his lips, his mouth is dry. Before he went to bed he brought a glass of water with him. Not-stoned him is the best. He yawns.

**Sorry I didn’t mean to make things not fun**

**no that’s not it  
fuck it’s just  
I’m sorry we can’t meet**

**Are you still worried I’m some bot loving psycho who’s gonna stalk you?**

**not really  
it’s complicated  
honestly**

**So what about you?  
Are you short? dark-haired? really “jacked”?**

**no**

A sobering thought strikes Even then. Maybe it really is that simple. el_wright doesn’t want Even to see his face. Maybe there’s something he thinks is wrong with it? Or maybe his body? He types furiously.

**I don’t care what you look like, you know.  
I’d like to meet you  
and I wouldn’t care. I like YOU. You’re funny, smart, kind.**

**thanks**

It’s snowing outside again and the wind howls past the windows. He means it, he’d love to be talking to el_wright in person right now. Even would lend him a blanket, make a bed for him on the couch. Or let him take the bed, he could handle the couch. Either way, el_wright’s his friend. He’s sure they’re friends. Without names, or years of knowing one another. Friends.

**have you ever thought about  
what it would have been like  
to meet Isak as a human being?**

**Definitely**

**and?**

**It’s**

Even can’t finish his thought. It’s too big for his head, his heart, his fingers. He puts the phone down on what he still considers Isak’s pillow. He picks it up again when the notification chimes.

**what if you met and he was human  
but he was kind of a dick  
grouchy and a jerk sometimes  
what then?**

**It’s still Isak  
I mean that’s what humans are  
we’re flawed  
but I think he’d still be sweet  
even if he were ornery  
I can’t believe that would change  
That inherent sweetness would be there.**

**okay**

The bathroom’s so far away and he needs to brush his teeth. He’s fine where he is. Even’s not sad, he’s past being simply sad. It’s an inchoate loss, and every day it shifts, getting smaller or bigger depending on the situation. Like now, when it feels like the pain could fade into something more manageable. Someday.

**Hey  
maybe we can meet  
and you can wear a sheet with two eye holes in it.**

**like a ghost lmao**

**Then I won’t see your terrifying Eyes Without a Face visage**

**I don’t what the fuck that is  
** **^ know**

**it’s an old movie  
French  
it’s good  
about a girl with no face  
so she wears a mask  
and her father’s a surgeon  
or maybe he’s her uncle  
I don’t know  
I saw it a long time ago  
besides you won’t need to wear a mask  
the sheet will cover everything  
including your tiny dick**

Even doesn’t have to worry if he’s gone too far because el_wright replies right away.

**ha ha ha  
you’re such an asshole**

**The art of storytelling-  
Everything should come full circle.**

**my dick is not tiny  
it’s fat and juicy**

His eyes widen and he swallows, coughing suddenly on his own saliva.

**Woooooooow  
fat AND juicy  
  
pics or…wait  
j/k**

**Do NOT send me pictures of your juicy dick  
I might not be able to handle its magnificence**

**you’re the one who probably has a micropenis**

Even tilts his head.

**why do you think *I* have a micropenis?**

**You're the one who lives alone in some house** , **is into weird shit on Grindr you don’t want to tell me about** **and your profile pic is probably a** **seminude** **side shot so your mini peen doesn’t show**

**what makes you think I like weird shit**

**Didn’t you say you had usunual preferences?  
*unusual**

**I didn’t**

**Oh, my bad.  
So.  
What are you into?**

**you’re fishing**

**Am I?**

**you’re hot**

Even laughs out loud.

**like too hot to be single  
I’ve seen your photos online  
and Jonas confirmed it wasn’t photoshop**

**it doesn’t make sense  
ergo tiny penis**

He wiggles his pants down and pulls the band of his boxers away from his body. His penis sleeps. It’s not tiny at all, even in repose.

**You’re right**

**I just checked and it’s really small  
and you’re the Elephant Man  
So we should definitely meet  
or you can call me on my cellphone, Kåre**

**I can’t talk to you on the phone  
fuck these names are so off the mark**

Before Even can joke about el_wright’s probable helium-voice, there’s another message.

**meeting in person is better  
**

**We’ll meet?**

He sits up, excited.

**yeah I think we should**

Even doesn’t want to push with a _when_ and make el_wright change his mind, so he goes for what he knows―a joke.

**I’m sorry you didn’t get your hot Grindr hook up tonight**

**u were my hot grindr hook-up tonight**

**Oh shit  
What weird sex stuff did we do?  
I missed it**

**nothing  
but it was good**

**Yes, good  
I had a great time  
not sucking your fat and juicy dick**

**jfc  
you’ll never let me forget this will you**

**No  
but I mean it  
it was good talking to you**

**you too  
you are nice  
despite your micropenis**

**good night, Halvard**

**good night, Evennnnnnnnnn**

Even rolls over to his side of the bed and puts the phone on the bedside table. He’s still smiling as he lays his head down on the pillow, closing his eyes.

The view behind his lids is black, a dark screen after a fade-out. He listens to music and imagines a film starring Isak. A love film.

He misses him so much.

Even would like to think that he can sleep after that. He’d like to think that the film will stop playing. He doesn’t know if the love goes away. el_wright made him laugh, he’d felt giddy, and that joy had just turned back to this: missing Isak.

From underneath his pillow, Even pulls out the red beanie he bought at the Christmas market. Gently, he traces the raised figure eight-patterned cabling on the sides. The movie slows and there’s a freeze-frame on Isak’s parted lips.

* * *

A couple of eye-blinks later, it’s Saturday. He goes to therapy in the morning. Looks over the messages he sent to el_wright and sighs. Before agonizing, Even sends a message. A joke, in English.

**Why is the tomato red?  
Because he saw the salad dressing.**

Sometimes the only way forward is to play it as casually as possible.

He calls the only other early bird of his acquaintance, Magnus. They meet for brunch in Grefsen, at a restaurant owned by a friend of Magnus’ that Magnus raves about the whole way there. Once seated, Even fidgets and chews his lips. He’ll need chapstick soon. He’s fresh out.

“What did your therapist say?”

“He commended me for remembering my appointment.”

“How do you feel?”

“Jittery.”

Magnus has a foam mustache and he nods as he licks it off. “You seem good.”

“Really?” Even laughs.

“You were looking rough for a while.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Magnus looks down at his phone and frowns, lifting his phone to show him a photo of Vilde grinning in a white fuzzy sweater. “I might have to tell her we can’t date because of the ‘b’ word. I think she’s amazing, all I want to do is spend time with her and we're not even doing anything sexual, but I have to stop falling for bots.”

Even taps the heart on the photo. “She’s not a bot, Magnus.”

“She’s not?”

“I thought I’d told you. She had a bruise on her hand from a fall. Can’t be a bot.”

Magnus looks simultaneously overjoyed and confused. “But she’s friends with your Isak. Is he also not a bot?”

A message notification chimes.

**fuck  
why didn’t you make me drink water last night  
you would be a morning person  
I have no coffee **

**Want me to bring you some?**

**in April, yes**

**That’s a long ways away.**

**ugh my head  
I was really drunk last night  
and stoned**

Even smiles ruefully.

**It’s okay you can pretend you were so drunk you can’t remember telling me all about your delightful dick**

**ha ha ha  
I wasn’t going to do that  
okay maybe I was  
but we’re good, right?**

“Who are you messaging?”

Magnus looks down at Even’s phone while chewing his hamburger, unidentifiable orange sauce on his bottom lip.

“A friend.”

A phone notification chimes but this time, it’s for Magnus.

“Heeeey.” He smiles at his phone and types back. “It’s the Artist Formerly Known as Adrian.” Magnus laughs at the reply. “I hung out with him yesterday. Him and his girlfriend just had a baby so he’s been busy with that.”

“Jonas?” Even sits up.

“Yeah. Here,” Magnus shows him a photo on his phone: Jonas smiling and holding a tiny baby, its head full of dark, wet hair. “The baby was going to Grandma’s with her mom, so I got to meet them both before they left. I know he wants to see you too. We’ll work something out.”

“Sure, that would be nice.”

Even’s phone chimes.

**I want skolebrød**

“Oh, I met one of his friends. Really funny dude.” Magnus laughs. “His name is Isak, just like your bot.”

Slowly, with great, controlled deliberateness, Even puts his phone down. He picks up his fork, pushes his beets to one side of the plate and then back. They leave an oily magenta streak on his plate. “Where was this?”

“At Jonas’s. We played a few rounds of FIFA. Handsome guy. Great hair. Laughed at all my jokes, which means I have to love him.”

Even drops his knife. Magnus bends over to pick it up while their waiter rushes up to the table, bringing Even a clean one. In the flurry of movement, Even happens to look out the window and across the street, just like last time, as if the very thought of him was a conjuring—there’s Isak, walking slowly, holding a small brown paper bag, a phone in his hand.

Even knows he saw him last time and here he is again. The same blue hat.

The universe is sending another message.

Even stands and hurriedly puts on his coat and hat. He pulls out his wallet and hands Magnus more than enough to cover his portion.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. There’s an emergency. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Dude-”

He rushes out of the restaurant just as it starts to rain. About twenty meters away, Isak pops open a dark blue umbrella.

Even doesn’t run; he follows at a discreet distance. Isak is too busy with the phone in his hand, umbrella handle balanced between his arm and the side of his body, to notice he’s being tailed, so Even grows bolder and gets closer.

He takes in the sight of him―the state of his clothes; his long legs in faded black jeans; a jean jacket with a shearling collar that Even’s never seen him in. That blond hair curling out from under his blue beanie, looking longer than it was when they got back from the cabin. The ramrod straight posture.

It’s a residential area, light on foot traffic, so Even’s aware that at any moment Isak could turn around and see him. He knows he shouldn’t be afraid of what Isak will do if it happens, but what if he doesn’t recognize him? What if Even’s been erased from his memory already? What if el_wright doesn’t want them to meet because then it will mean telling Even the truth.  
_  
Isak can no longer remember you, he won’t ever again._

But he’s well; he looks well.

Isak nearly drops his phone and scrambles with his paper bag and his umbrella. He hoarsely mutters _fuck_ , and Even covers his mouth so as not to laugh or cry out because he’s missed his voice so much. Even had thought he was fine, that he had a grip on his grief, but faced with Isak only a few meters ahead, with a blue umbrella and red cheeks, it bleeds brand new. Isak puts his phone away and stops at a brown and white house, fiddling with his keys for a few moments before going inside, the door shutting firmly behind him.

Even has no umbrella and he’s soaking. The chattering of his teeth brings him back to himself. His phone chimes. A text from Magnus asking if he’s okay, if he should call anyone. Another message notification from el_wright.

**even this once-hot coffee is fucking awesome right now**

He swallows and approaches the door. Should he knock? Ring the doorbell? Which one is less aggressive? What if Isak’s owner is home? What if Even’s not welcome?

There’s a faded oval by the door that must have been a name plate. The screws are rusted.

If this isn’t his Isak, who is he? Why do el_wright and Jonas not know he exists?

His knock is weak. The door opens and Isak‘s there, rubbing a napkin on his white button down shirt. When he looks up, his eyes widen. That calming silt-green, long lashes blinking. His hair is much longer without his beanie and curling at the ends. The jut of his Adam’s apple moves as he swallows slowly.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Even wants to embrace him but he doesn’t think he’s allowed to. Does Isak even recognize him? “It’s. I’m…Even.”

Isak’s lips part and he licks them. “Even,” he repeats softly, then shakes his head. “Jesus, you must be freezing…come in.”

He steps back and motions Even inside. Isak leads him to a couch and sits down across from him in an armchair. Even watches Isak perch at the very edge of the seat, fingers of one hand spread on his knee. Isak’s wearing a watch and there’s a freckle on the strip of wrist above the watchface that he didn’t have before.

It’s not his Isak.

His eyes slide back up to the face he adores. To that one stubborn curl like an ‘at’ symbol at Isak’s forehead, his downcast eyes. He’s pale and not as healthy-looking as his Isak. It doesn’t matter. It’s still Isak. Always. Even will love this one too. He’ll love every single Isak; he belongs to all of them, however many there are.

Isak’s chest rises and falls rapidly and Even remembers, this must be terrifying to him. A stranger barging into his home.

“Are you okay?”

Isak blinks. “Yes. Are you?”

“I think so.” He looks around, the living room is tidy and there are books everywhere. On one wall, there are several lines of Post-its―perfectly aligned. It makes him smile, fleetingly. He turns his attention back to Isak, takes in the bruising shadows under his tired eyes, and lowers his voice. “Are you happy?”

“Uh.” Isak looks lost. He lifts one hand in the air and Even, prompted by the familiarity of the gesture, takes it in his. It is warm.

“Are you treated well…here?”

“Me?”

“Yes.” Even shifts forward. “Are you taken care of? You can tell me. I know people who can help.”

A blush rises up Isak’s cheek. “Oh. No, I mean, yes. I’m fine.”

Even lets go of Isak’s hand. “Sorry. I shouldn’t presume.”

“It’s. It’s okay.”

They both stare down at Isak’s empty hands until Even laughs, then Isak, following with a dry little giggle.

Isak stands abruptly and Even cranes his head back to maintain eye contact. It feels like he should lie down, his teeth start chattering again.

“Let me bring you a towel. Umm, I’ll be right back.”

Even closes his eyes. He’s screwed up his sleep schedule this week. There’s a dread curling inside of him, knowing he’ll have to leave this Isak too. He can’t just stay here forever.  
  
Everybody has a life to return to. Even bots.

He looks around and sees a few photo frames leaning against the books. There’s a curly-haired woman with smiling eyes and a little girl with long blonde hair in her arms. Next to that, there’s a photo of Isak himself, making a silly face for the camera, his arm around another man wearing a rainbow wig. The man stares fondly at Isak and Even feels an irrational pang of jealousy.

There are steps behind him and Even turns around. Isak hands him a large gray towel. He has a glass of water in his other hand, and he puts it on top of a book on the coffee table.

“That’s for you too. When was the last time you slept?”

“This morning, just an hour.”

This time, Isak sits next to him on the couch and Even moves back a little. Isak gestures to Even’s head and Even nods, slowly toweling his hair. The exhaustion rises over him like flood water. He yawns.

“Do you want to go lie down for a bit?”

He would love to. Especially if Isak was there too. Isak’s offering. Another Isak. But still Isak. His head swims.

“Even?”

The way Isak says his name. He wants to drown in it.

Even shakes his head when his eye is caught by the spot on Isak’s shirt, the one he was wiping when he opened the door―a brown splotch. Coffee. Then up to Isak’s chin, where, no bigger than the width of your average shaving nick, there’s a fresh, red cut.

After that, his brain comes back online. Slowly, then in a burst―processing all the evidence right in front of him. The other photos around the room that he’d ignored. The one with the same child as in the other photo, the one with the woman, but the child’s face is visible behind that yellow mane and, those eyes, he’d know them anywhere. The book the water sits on― _Short-Range Micro-Motion Sensing with Radar Technology_. Another photo on the wall, an orange desertscape with two figures posing on a dune. Even stands shakily and walks over to get closer; it’s Isak and Jonas, but younger. Isak wears an L.A. Raiders cap and an N.W.A. t-shirt.

Isak, _his_ Isak back in their living room, pointing at the wall and saying, _You need to look. Put it all together._

He looks. He puts it together. He points to the snapback in the photo.

“N.W.A. Of course.”

“Even.” There’s his name again. It sounds new. Nervous.

“Eazy-E. Eric Wright.” Even bites a fingernail. “What was his middle name?”

“Lynn.”

He turns, Isak, no, el_wright, stands by the couch, looking hesitant.

“Is your name…Isak?”

The hair, the neck, his hands. The grainy texture of his voice. His beauty mark.

“Yes. Isak Valtersen.”

“You’re el_wright.”

“Yes.” Isak licks his lower lip with the tip of his tongue and a thousand thoughts shuffle and settle in Even’s brain.

“Right. This is why we couldn’t meet. Makes sense. You’re actually Isak and the Bot is…what? An experiment? A stand-in?”

“Even. It’s not what you think…I’m sorry.” Isak winces. A shaky hand flies up to his forehead. He doubles over slightly.

“How’s your hangover?”

Isak gives a little involuntary smile that breaks Even’s heart. “Not great. My head is killing me.”

The rain pitter-patters against the windows and Even walks toward Isak until he’s standing right in front of him. Reaching―first for Isak’s cheek, then down the line of his jaw, neck, shoulder, gently, so gently, before pulling him into his arms and holding him tightly. Even breathes in the smell of Isak’s hair, the lingering scent of coffee, unfamiliar soap, and his shivering fades out eventually. Disappears into their combined warmth.

This might be in Even’s movie. The lighting is terrible. There is no music. The tempo is off. But Isak is here, alive in his arms. Breathing in and out, actually breathing. Heart beating and pulse racing. Hungover and his. Well, maybe not that last part but it doesn’t matter, Even belongs to him at least and Isak is. He just is.

Real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible content warnings: Nothing really, unless you find awkward sexual boasting upsetting. 
> 
> We hug you like Even hugs Isak. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your amazing comments and kudos and for reading our story. We hope you felt something there at the end, somehow we always do when we go over this chapter.
> 
>  _The Boyfriend Experience_ hit a pivotal point this week and we are taking a ceremonial week-long hiatus. Please reread, or recommend to others. Make playlists, make art. Come talk to us on tumblr. We 💗 you.
> 
> See you in two weeks!


	9. A funny story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak sounds so nervous still, his voice trembles. Even stands, suddenly wishing he could go with him, to him, and will it ever stop? Will he always feel this pull? 
> 
> He knows the answer. That’s not what bothers him. He wonders what use that _yes_ is to the man on the other side of the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest readers, welcome back after the hiatus! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments, your kudos, your messages and your asks on Tumblr. We ❤️ you all, and we ❤️ how you were all as emotional as us over Even and Real Isak meeting at last. 
> 
> We love fic fanwork! So much. What an honor. Thank you, peacestew for your [awesome gif set](https://peacestew.tumblr.com/post/643104353417330688/the-boyfriend-experience-its-still-isak-always) and chilli-alwayschilli for your [lovely illustration](https://chilli-alwayschilli.tumblr.com/post/642547180955222016/show-chapter-archive). Check out their work!
> 
> We hope you'll like this chapter and are as excited as we as we are over the continuation of their journey—enjoy!

If somebody had told him about el_wright’s identity a week ago, Even isn’t sure how he’d have reacted.

Maybe he would have felt tricked, deceived. Scared. If anything, his first instinct would probably have been to run. Make the whole thing go away by pretending it never happened. Maybe he should.

But, like this, in the middle of this foreign living room in Grefsen on a rainy Saturday February afternoon—he finds that he doesn’t want to run. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the surprise—but above anything, he feels relieved. Filled with an odd but irrefutable joy over standing here with this new and old, foreign yet familiar Isak in his arms.

He doesn’t want to let go.

When he finally does, however, he notices that he’s shaking again, and there’s wetness at the corners of his eyes when he blinks.

Isak—this Isak—watches him with kind apprehension, and Even wants to sink back into his arms.

He’s so tired.

“Come,” Isak says, eventually, a hand on Even’s shoulder as he steers him up a staircase, down a hallway, doors on both sides and a thick carpet under their feet. “You need to rest.”

There are more photos in what must be the guest bedroom, but Even can’t take them in. He’s seen so much already and his head is full, swimming with it.

“Here’s, uh, some dry clothes.” Isak places a couple of folded items on the bed and gestures to Even’s wet, trembling shoulders. “I’ll be downstairs when you wake up.”

The t-shirt is soft and worn, collar stretched, and it’s a little too wide around the chest. The gray sweatpants just a tiny bit too short. The duvet is thick and warm, and the sheets smell of detergent, the same kind as the clothes Even’s wearing. That is, Isak’s clothes. Isak.

* * *

The house is silent when he wakes. The light has cooled to nothing, the room is dark, and Even knows it must be evening. Carefully, he pads across the hall to a tiled bathroom. Even pees and washes his face, cold water on his swollen eyes, and takes in the items surrounding him. A single toothbrush on the shelf above the sink, a hamper half-full of clothes. Only one bottle of shampoo and a shower gel in the little thread basket hanging on the wall in the shower.  
  
Isak’s sitting on the couch in the living room, but puts his book to the side and rises as Even enters.

Even wonders if he’s slept, too. It doesn’t look like it.

He’s exchanged the coffee-stained shirt in favor of a dark blue knitted sweater, and it makes him both seem softer as well as more worn. In the sparsely lit room, Isak still looks pale, his hair’s unruly, and before he remembers not to, Even’s first instinct is to walk up and embrace him again.

“Hey.” Isak’s smile appears just as apprehensive as before, one corner of his mouth quickly turning upward before his face smooths out again.

Even doesn’t blame him for being nervous. This is one strange situation, and he himself has no idea where to go from here. This story has no script, no director.

“Hey.”

“Do you, uh, want some coffee?” Isak gestures lamely to the table, to a tray holding a thermos and two cups.

Even nods. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted milk,” Isak says, shuffling on the couch to make place for Even. “And I didn’t have any. So.”

He lifts his shoulders with a quick glance up at Even, and gifts him with another tiny smile.

“It’s okay. I- I’ll drink it black.”

There’s the same adorably gapped teeth, the same slightly upturned nose. His curved lashes fanning out over his cheeks. His smile, curling from one side of his mouth to the next as he slides the cup over to Even.

It’s his Isak, but it’s also not. It’s an Isak who doesn’t know how Even likes his coffee, an Isak who so obviously tries to read him through looks, through questions. Not only by simply watching, and hence knowing.

It’s a tired Isak, a little older, with dark circles under his eyes.

And, most of all, it’s an Isak who lifts his cup to his lips, and drinks.

Even can’t tear his gaze away from how Isak’s throat works as he swallows. How he licks his lips after, and breathes.

“Are you okay?” Isak asks finally, and Even realizes that he’s been staring way too long.

“Uh. Yeah.” He laughs, looking away. “Sorry. It’s just-” He gestures toward Isak’s face, the coffee cups.

“Yeah.” Isak coughs, a dry little sound that’s so familiar that Even’s heart swims with warmth.

It’s almost too much to look at Isak right now, so Even directs his attention to the photos instead, the ones he only gave a quick glance before.

“You and Jonas,” he concludes, nodding at the photo of them on the desert dunes. “Africa?”

Isak nods. “Morocco.”

Even only has a second to think, _That’s funny_ , before he remembers that until recently, Isak and Jonas hadn’t spoken in years. But Isak still has their picture up.

His gaze lands on a framed photo beside it, the one with a long-haired Isak who can’t be more than ten years old, in football gear and flanked by the same curly-haired woman as in the other pictures, her arm around Isak’s shoulders. He didn’t have the time or focus to notice before, but when he sees it now, it’s obvious. How her eyes are just as bright as Isak’s, the same curious, calm green.

“Look, Even-” Isak licks his lips again as Even turns towards him, and Even’s first instinct is to put his hand on Isak’s cheek, let it slide down to his shoulders, down his arm. Take his hand in his and calm him.

He doesn’t though. It isn’t his place.

“You must have so many questions.” Isak rubs his palm against the back of his neck before placing it on his knee again. “And I- As you were sleeping, I was thinking, and I want to tell you everything. I really do.”

“I know,” Even replies, putting his hand on top of Isak’s before he can stop himself.

Isak looks up, eyes widening, but he doesn’t take his hand away. “Yeah?”

Even nods. “Yeah.”

“You have the right to know,” Isak adds.

Their hands lie still, Even’s on top of his, and it’s staggering, how familiar it feels. How warm. Isak’s long, slender fingers, but with the nail of his index finger bitten.

It’s so much. Isak’s here, and he isn’t—Even’s head is full, as is his heart. It’s already as much as he can handle.

“I want to know too,” Even says, and squeezes his hand around Isak’s before lifting it away. “But I think—I maybe need to go home.”

“I get that.” Isak glances up at him. “I’ll, uh, call you an Uber. Or…I can drive you? I’m not the best driver bu-”

“Actually, I think I’m gonna walk.” Even rubs the heel of his hand against his pants. “You know. Clear my head.”

“Yeah.” Isak raises his eyebrows with a quick smile, looking down. “I dried your clothes for you, so.”

He gestures to one of the armchairs where Even’s clothes lie neatly folded in a tidy heap on the seat.

“Thank you. I’ll go-” Even points upwards to the second floor. “…change.”

“Are you sure I can’t get you a car?” Isak calls, just as Even reaches the stairs.

“I’m sure. I’m not far.”

“Oh. Good.” Isak nods, tilting his head to the side a little. “It’s good that you’re, uh, close…” he trails off, his lips pursing into a thoughtful pout.

“It’s not that close. I live in Sagene. But I like the walk.”

Isak’s eyes widen. “Ah, cool. Umm, I’ve gone to Christmas concerts at that church. Have you ever?”

“No.”

“You should go. They’re really.” Isak swallows and his lips part. “Fun.”

Isak flicks his hair to the side and the gesture seems nervous. And Even wonders why he himself isn’t. His eyebrows go up.

“Fun? I’ll keep it in mind for next Christmas.”

“So do you live near Sagene Church? Or closer to Vøienvolden?”

It occurs to Even that Isak’s going to keep asking little questions until he’s pried out Even’s exact address and it’s so absurd, this whole situation, that he smiles. Isak does too, not the same nervous smile as before and not one Even is familiar with. There’s something wistful about it, almost shy. It teeters on the brink of becoming, as if paused.

“I’m on Kongsvingergata, right across from the cottage colony.” Even stares down at the bundle of clothes in his arms. “I’m just going to-” And he turns to go up the stairs.

Behind him, he hears Isak’s soft, tentative “Yes.”

Even changes in the bathroom without hurry, once again looking around to memorize the details of the house.

Not that he doesn’t think he’ll return here. But he wants to store them for later. For when he has the strength to think about all this.

Back downstairs, Isak is sitting at the edge of the couch and rises when Even enters. It’s then that Even remembers that the other Isak is there too.

Somewhere in the house. _Botsak_. Didn’t Isak call him that? How had it not registered?

“Was it you at the Christmas market?”

Isak nods.

“You look good in blue.”

He repeats it under his breath as Isak walks him to the door. Turns and watches him for a few extra seconds. The lovely angle of his chin, the barely-there stubble. The beauty mark on his top lip, the constellation leading down to the sharp cut of his jaw. The gentle, attentive gleam in his eyes. But more. The slight redness around his nostrils, like he’s been blowing his nose. A looser gait as he moves, hesitantly, by Even’s side. His hair, which doesn’t have his Isak’s carefully tended appearance and length. Even can’t help fixing it, leaning in to smooth it to the side and tucking the longer strands behind his ear. Isak allows it, stilling under Even’s attentions.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” Even says. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Isak swallows and Even stops himself from using his finger to trace the movement down Isak’s throat to his chest.

“Oh,” Even sighs. “I almost forgot. Here.” He unzips his bag and pulls out the green notebook. “This is his. I haven’t read it but I think you should. It might be important.”

“Thank you,” Isak murmurs. Their fingers brush as Even hands it over and he exits before the sensation makes him stay.

The rain must have stopped falling just a short while ago—the streets are still wet, and the smell of petrichor in the humid air is sharp.

It is strange, how he should probably feel uprooted, lost, and instead—the taste of Isak’s coffee still lingering on his tongue, the pale street lamps reflecting in the wet leaves on the trees—it’s like seeing the light.

He’s almost home when his phone pings. A text from a now-unblocked number.

**guess what**

Even inhales sharply and waits.

**a funny story**

**this friend I’ve been talking to online unexpectedly showed up at my house this morning  
took a nap, had a coffee  
and then he left  
just went home**

He smiles at his screen. Then touches his own smile, surprised that it happened so easily. Even takes a moment to consider how to respond.

**Oh really?**

**yeah**

**So it was the first time you met?**

**yup**

**Funny.**

**it kind of is, actually  
but also not**

**No? Why?**

**because there were things I wanted to tell him before we met in person  
so he’d understand some things about me  
it’s complicated  
we were becoming sort of friends  
and I hope he isn’t mad at me  
for not telling him before**

Even opens the door to his apartment building with his shoulder, eyes on his phone, typing with both thumbs.

**You mean you wanted to prepare him beforehand about your pockmarked face and tiny dick?**

**omfg**

It’s strange, now that he reads el_wright’s texts, he knows what it would sound like if the words were spoken out loud. What the person behind them looks like.

**Maybe he's not mad.**

**no?**

**Maybe he wants to know everything.**

His apartment is dusty, a bit airless. Tomorrow, he’ll open the windows, try and have the wind sort out the stale, lingering smell of inactivity.  
  
Even wanders over to the fridge, finds a slightly pruney apple in one of the drawers. He washes it and eats it despite his lack of hunger. Each bite is soft and too-sweet, but he swallows it down, typing with his free index finger.

**My sleep has been a mess and I really should brush my teeth.**

**have you eaten? because you should eat first**

**I’m on it.**

_Has Isak eaten_ , Even wonders. Does he remember to eat? Does he sleep? He takes a lopsided photo of his apple and hits send.

******that’s…something** ** **

He sees a message from Magnus from earlier and writes him back to let him know he’s safe at home. Then he switches back to his previous conversation, typing his address and hitting send.

******This is where I live, in case you wanted to know so you can avoid it.** ** **

******FYI Magnus, Jonas’s friend, that you met last Friday?  
****** ******He’s a friend of mine too.** ** **

******He knows about the Bot, but not that it’s you.** ** **

Which might be the weirdest text he’s ever sent. Even shakes his head.

******Just a heads up.******

******right thank you** ** **

Even takes a shower and cries again. It doesn’t feel like grief. It’s just the overflow. The last bit left before there’s nothing.

The bathroom mirror steams over. This is good; he doesn’t want to look at himself while he brushes his teeth. He’d like to forget that there’s anything to look at.

Back on the bedside table, his phone screen is lit up with a new notification.

******I don’t want to avoid you** ** **

He towels off and crawls into bed, his limbs like lead.

******are you in bed?** ** **

******Yes.  
Now I am.** ** **

******good night, Even** ** **

_Isak_ , he wants to say. Wants to say his name, not just type it. Even wants to look into those eyes and say his name out loud.

******Good night.** ** **

Even sleeps for a long time and manages to get himself out of bed around 14.00. He nixes a plan to go buy a coffee and settles for homemade. He’s carrying the cup back to the living room when he sees an envelope in the front hallway, where it has been slid under the front door. His name written on it in black ink, in the same small, spiky handwriting as on all the Post-its that once filled his living room wall. He takes the letter with him to the couch, weighing it in his hand before he takes a deep breath and opens it. The same thorny scrawl, but smaller.

> ****Hi Even** **
> 
> ****I don’t know how long it’s been since I wrote a letter, an actual letter.** **
> 
> ****I started writing a message on my phone but it turned out too long and…not right. So, this is me, trying to explain myself, to explain Bot Isak, to you.** **
> 
> ****I guess I should start from the beginning.** **
> 
> ****I've already told you a bit about my mom. Or, Isak did.** **
> 
> ****I’m still a bit ashamed of showing off with that Star of Bethlehem prompt—but that background story wasn’t made up. It was supposed to be his all along, because it is also mine.** **
> 
> ****She wasn’t well for a long time. She was a gentle, loving person, who I think truly understood me at times, but she was also schizophrenic. And she got worse during my teens. Back then, I wasn’t the best at handling it. I was ashamed of her persistent delusions, her obsession with the Bible, and I tried to hide it from my friends, from everyone at school. Jonas was the only one who knew the full extent of it. I really wish it would have been different, but it’s what it was.** **
> 
> ****Unfortunately my dad didn’t handle it much better. And so it fell on me to take care of her, a lot. I wasn’t old and I needed her, but she needed me more. Even more the worse she got. The older I got. There were extended hospitalizations, times when more help than I could provide was required. But she always came home and it was important to me that she was home.** **
> 
> ****Somehow, despite this, I managed to get the grades to get into the robotics program at UiO. I was so happy. It had been my dream for years. I was a bit of a savant. I’m not boasting. It’s just true.** **
> 
> ****And still, I dreaded going. If I put in all my work there I’d let her down. And if I did a half-assed job and didn’t make it through university, I’d let myself down. Do you know what it’s like, being in your late teens or early twenties and knowing you should have your whole life ahead of you? To see everyone around you living their best lives, finally free, while you yourself know that it’ll never be the same for you? That you’re forced to submit to something else, a responsibility you never asked for, but that you can’t turn away from because it’s part of who you are?** **
> 
> ****I think maybe you do.** **

Even puts the letter down for a second. Closes his eyes, and breathes.

> ****I started my education anyway. How could I not? But, as I had already guessed, it soon became a lot. The workload, my expectations for myself, and my mother’s needs. I made it, but only barely. Despite sleeping less and less.** **
> 
> ****I’d built robots since I was a kid. Simple things at first, like a mechanical arm that could lift a slice of bread from the basket and hand it to me. More complicated as I got older.** **
> 
> ****I’d toyed with the idea of building a humanoid bot for years. As a fun project. To prove to myself that I could, like I told you. But a part of me thought that one day I might have to. That it would be necessary. Because of work and my mother.** **
> 
> ****Also it would be the ultimate test, wouldn't it? If she couldn't tell the difference, who could? (I’m not too proud of this thought either. But it is what it is.)  
>   
>  The university labs were empty at night, so I started there. And, after I graduated, our company labs. Ada was our first bot, but not my first. Isak was. Nobody else knew, but I tried a lot of the programming we used for Ada on Isak first. ** **
> 
> ****If you’ve seen an Ada, you might have caught the resemblance. After we got funding, we drew straws on which one of us would be the model for expression and motion for our bots and I lost. There are hundreds of hours of footage of me for the Ada project. I used that data for Isak.** **
> 
> ****The first time I decided that the Bot was good enough to try out I stood outside the window. Positioned myself so I could see him make her a sandwich, wipe down the kitchen counter, bring it over to her. Her happy, grateful smile up at who she believed was me.** **
> 
> ****Does it sound strange if I say that I felt both proud and jealous, but also relieved that it actually worked? Or does it just make me sound like a jerk?** **
> 
> ****Maybe it does. The whole thing was kind of selfish, after all. But, also, I’ve been asking myself ever since if it mattered to her. If she didn’t know it wasn’t me, did it harm her? Probably not. I’ll never know anyway.** **
> 
> ****(Maybe this is where you ask why I didn’t just hire someone to take care of her. Or permanently put her in a home. Or bought a care bot. And—well, first of all I didn’t have the money, but I don’t think I would have anyway. I didn’t want her to think I’d abandoned her too.)** **
> 
> ****As time went by, I realized that the Bot was good enough to replace me in other situations as well. Not with my best friends, like Jonas. I think he might have gotten suspicious if he’d sat down and talked with the Bot one on one, at least.** **
> 
> ****But in other circumstances: social gatherings I felt more obliged than happy to attend. Birthdays of less close friends. Of their children. Everything that made me feel even more separated from other people than I already was. I thought I could finally lift that burden from myself.** **
> 
> ****I know it sounds kind of antisocial or at least a bit douchey. I can only say that I wasn’t in a very good place. Taking care of my mother took its toll, and I wasn’t out to anyone, hardly even myself. (I toyed with that too―having the Bot do the coming out for me so I wouldn’t have to expose myself like that, over and over). It took a lot of work. Performing, I guess. And the idea that I could get out of having to do so was all I could think about.** **
> 
> ****During a routine health checkup, my mother’s doctor found a lump in her breast. It was not benign. I took a break from the company, from Isak and the Adas, and focused on caring for her.** **
> 
> ****I’d always expected that to be Isak’s job―to care for my mother at her worst because I could not. But in those months, I discovered that I could and I did. I value that time with her. I carry it with me.** **
> 
> ****As a result, I wound up missing most of the discussions that led to the sale of Illuminati. I’m not gonna go into the boring details, but when the Adas were shipped off, Isak was too, by accident. I never found out what happened to him exactly, or where he was. I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see him again, and then, out of nowhere, it happened like this. I hope you’ll forgive me for acting the way I did when I found out.** **
> 
> ****But now I guess you see why he was never meant to be sold. Why he hasn’t been functioning as a bot should, with the pleasure bot protocol added to the already sketchy mix.** **
> 
> ****I think, if I’d had someone else to help me, someone who knew me well and saw me from the outside, the Bot might have been more perfected. But this Isak, this version of me, was only for me to know.** **
> 
> ****But now, Jonas knows too. And, above all, you do.** **
> 
> ****I hope you don’t think I’m too weird because I built a copy of myself just to get out of things I didn’t feel like doing at the time. Be present in ways I couldn’t.** **
> 
> ****And I hope you don’t feel, I don’t know, tricked. Into loving someone who basically is a not very perfect copy of a not very perfect person.** **
> 
> ****Most of all, I hope you don’t hate me.** **
> 
> ****Getting to know you, just by messaging, has meant a lot to me. Believe me when I say that I’ve been struggling with how to tell you. The more we’ve gotten to know each other, the more difficult it seemed. Jonas thought I should do it right away, that you would understand. I don’t know how he could know that. How could you be okay with this?** **
> 
> ****You’re such a good person, Even. I know that it was real. That what you had with him was love. Is love.** **
> 
> ****I don’t know what the proper goodbye phrase is here, but what I said before still holds: I’m glad it was you.** **
> 
> ****Isak****

Even reads the last paragraph again before he folds the letter and puts it down in his lap. Stares at the wall opposite the couch for a minute or two, then picks the letter up and reads it again.

It’s there, black on white. So much of what he’s been through in the last year, explained. The final missing pieces.

The unmarked box. Jonas’ initial aversion when Even first called, his reactions to seeing Isak lying on Even’s bed. His questions.

Isak’s many inconsistencies. His caring, loving nature, his persistent efforts to make Even happy. In non-sexual ways. In any way really.

His sarcasm. Little idiosyncrasies. The details.

Where does he go, what does he do, now that he has most of the answers? What could possibly be next? More questions? They’re there, buzzing in his head, but they also feel superfluous and unimportant. These lingering questions and their possible answers change nothing.

He straightens up to pull his phone out of his pocket. Opens his last text message conversation, and hits call.

It only takes two rings until there’s a click. In the background, silence. And then, so close that he could be sitting right next to Even, there’s Isak’s hoarse, hesitant voice.

“Hello?”

“You know…I don’t think I actually speak to anyone on the phone except my mom.”

Isak breathes in sharply. “Did you-”

“Get your letter? Yes.” He walks over to the kitchen and runs the tap, fills a glass from it and drinks. Isak is quiet throughout. Even wants to hear him, no matter what.

“I can tell you don’t usually write them. It needed a bit more color. You should study the masters. Virginia Woolf wrote some excellent ones. I’ll give you five out of ten. Should be four but I’ll grant you a point for unusual narrative.”

There’s a moment of silence and then a soft, relieved laugh. “Sorry, I don’t accept criticism.”

“I suppose you won’t be improving then.”

“Do you think there’s room for improvement?”

Even closes his eyes, luxuriating in the sound of Isak’s voice. “Hmm, further study of the subject is required. Write a few more and bring them over. We’ll review over dinner.”

He freezes. He hadn’t meant to sound flirty. As if the past year hadn’t happened and there was only this one Isak that he’d just met and hadn’t fallen in love with yet.

_Yet._

A wave of nausea hits him. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing, I-”

“Do you want to meet up today or-”

They answer simultaneously and overlap. Isak goes silent and Even bites his bottom lip.

“Isak,” he says and wills his voice not to break.

“Yes?”

He grips the sink as if holding himself upright. “Can we message or call for a bit, before meeting up again?”

“Um, yeah, of course,” Isak says, then coughs. “I’m sorry. I have so many questions I still need to ask. Things I couldn’t ask you before when you didn’t know…about me. I’m sorry if I’m being pushy or whatever. You can say no.”

His audible insecurity is endearing somehow. “You’re not being pushy. And I’ll answer whatever you need. It’s just.”

“Yes?”

“Seeing you. Is difficult.” Even runs his hand in his hair. “I need to get used to it.”

“I understand,” Isak says gently, and Even lets himself be enfolded in those words. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For still talking to me.”

Even sighs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You really do have to improve your letter game if you want to continue being friends. I won’t accept lackluster correspondence.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“That’s one tactic.”

Isak laughs and it’s cute, how it’s a little nervous and both familiar and unfamiliar. “You know, I really haven’t written a real letter ever. That was my first.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean. I came out to both my parents via text. So.”

Even laughs. “Wow. That’s impressive.”

“I suppose you’ve written a hundred letters.”

He moves back to the living room, opens a window and grabs another hoodie, sitting heavily on the couch. “I have actually. One summer, I wrote my girlfriend exactly one hundred love letters. I was going through a Neruda phase so just a little pretentious.”

Isak is quiet. Dimly, Even can hear the sound of water running.

“I wasn’t manic. Just in love.”

“Are they similar?”

Even laughs. “No one’s ever asked me that.”

“I’m sorry-”

“No, don’t be. It’s funny.” Outside, he sees a murmuration of birds swoop past his window. “I have to go.”

“Yeah, me too. Writing shitty letters is, uh, very time-consuming as it turns out. I should go do some food shopping or something.”

Isak sounds so nervous still, his voice trembles. Even stands, suddenly wishing he could go with him, to him, and will it ever stop? Will he always feel this pull? He knows the answer. That’s not what bothers him. He wonders what use that _yes_ is to the man on the other side of the call.  
  
Bot to Real. Now just Isak, only him. At least there’s only one.

“Even?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I message you?”

 _Always._ “Sure.”

“Okay. Bye. And thanks. Again.”

Isak hangs up before Even can say anything. He sits in his living room until it gets dark.

Less than an hour later, his phone chimes with a notification. It’s a photograph of a leaf. No, a vegetable. Chard, Even thinks, because of the red stalk. All these fine lines like an aerial photograph of a riverbed.

******I’ve been told this is good for you  
but all I want to do is examine it** ** **

******Botsak sent me a photo of Romanesco Broccoli.** ** **

******heh  
Botsak** ** **

******You called him that.  
The other day.** ** **

******I did?** ** **

******When you texted.  
It seemed so natural, I didn’t catch it.  
You could have kept me in the dark forever.** ** **

******I wouldn’t have** ** **

Strangely, he believes him. Even sees him so clearly, shaking his head. That prominent frown line.

**But you’re right. Botsak it is.**

******okay  
what does that make me then?  
not-Botsak?** ** **

_Realsak_ , Even thinks.

******Isak.** ** **

******right** ** **

Even decides to draw. He grabs an old sketchpad and a pencil and starts drawing without thinking too much about it. An old man’s face with a neck that becomes a thought bubble coming from a bottle. It doesn’t look like anyone he knows.

******do you hate me?** ** **

He considers it. Tries to find it in his heart, in his head. In the grasp of his pencil. In the drawing in front of him.

******I don’t think it’s possible for me to hate you.** ** **

All he feels is love. Not romantic love, something much more worn. His love for a crisp late summer day. Or his favorite sweater. The color green. That feeling of home.

******are you sure you’re not mad at me?  
******

******I’m not mad at you.** ** **

He takes his thumb and shades under the man’s eyes and goes past the lines of his face. Even puts the pencil down and looks at his phone. Types.

******I’m making sense of you in my head.** ** **

******Isak wasn’t so much a bot as an extension of you, it seems.  
I knew you without knowing you.** ** **

******The only original thing about him was me.** ** **

******why did Isak send you a photo of broccoli?** ** **

******Call him Botsak.** ** **

******For the fractals.  
  
He was shopping for dinner.** ** **

******I love fractals** ** **

******I know.** ** **

******so maybe you do know me a little** ** **

There’s a long pause, long enough for Even to think that their exchange is over. He goes over to the window and notices there’s snow on the rooftops. When did that happen? He missed the snow.

******Isak’s not set up to eat** ** **

******Botsak. Please.******

******It’s better if I refer to him that way.  
Differentiate him and you.  
******

******got it******

******you didn’t set up Botsak to eat** ** **

******I wanted him to. I wanted to sit and eat with him, but he told me not to.** ** **

******he was right  
he would have malfunctioned sooner** ** **

Even can’t imagine the loss of that time. Like Isak with his mother.

******hey, a question…  
******

******there’s a way for me to access Botsak’s memory bank  
I haven’t because, well, you’d be in it and I wasn’t sure how you felt about that given that you and him were** ** **

He types and types. Even wonders if Isak’s writing and deleting, writing and deleting.

******Having sex?** ** **

******yes** ** **

******I was going to say intimate but yes, that  
  
I would like to ******

******not because I need to see anything** ** **

******God this is weird******

******could I look at your interactions before that?  
  
I mean, even if it’s only a day or two it would be really helpful** ** **

******Weeks.  
A month at least.** ** **

******And sure, go ahead.  
If it will help you figure things out, you can look at everything up until that day.** ** **

He thinks of that first time, on the couch.

Was that what he’d consider their anniversary?

Even and the bot of the man he’s talking to right now.

******August 20th.** ** **

******thank you** ** **

He remembers the love movie. How should he explain it? There is no way to without sounding like a fool. Isak will just have to see it for himself.

******There’s a misunderstanding before that.  
  
It was my fault, not Botsak’s.** ** **

******got it** ** **

* * *

Later, way past dinner time, Even finds a jar of ready-made tomato sauce in the kitchen cupboard. His plate doesn’t look very impressive—a small heap of pasta and sauce—but it’s more than he’s managed to eat for weeks. He even grates some cheese on top.

Before touching the food, he snaps a photo and sends it to Isak.

******looking better** ** **

******Thanks.** ** **

******is it good?** ** **

He chews slowly, thinking.

******Not really.** ** **

******better than Botsak’s cooking?** ** **

Even smiles.

******I see you haven’t made it that far into the memory bank.** ** **

******His food was terrible in the beginning.** ** **

******he was very proud of it though** ** **

******I know.** ** **

******I know you know  
I saw you eating anyway just to please him** ** **

******It was stupid, wasn’t it?** ** **

******what do you mean?** ** **

******Did it really matter to him if I liked his food or not? At the time I thought I was being kind, but was it really necessary?** ** **

******it wasn’t necessary  
but it certainly meant something to him** ** **

******How do you know?** ** **

Even puts the phone face down on the table. Decides that he has to take five bites before checking.

******I know it did  
and he enjoyed cooking for you too** ** **

It hadn’t really occurred to Even that going through the memory storage also means that Isak gets to see all those hours spent without Even. All the visits to the supermarket. The walks. All those endless showers.

******it’s basic carebot programming, of course. they’re programmed to respond to their owner’s needs, and improve from their reactions. so even if you thought his cooking was shitty and he knew, he also noticed that you ate.******

******a positive feedback loop, even if the initial process wasn’t the intended one** ** **

******I think you succeeded with that. Isak was very caring.** ** **

******Botsak.** ** **

Swallowing becomes difficult.

******thank you** ** **

******I get that this might be weird for you to answer, and maybe it’s too early, but does he seem very different like this?******

******When he was with me? Compared to when he was with you and took care of your mom?** ** **

******Maybe you don’t want to answer that.** ** **

Maybe Even doesn’t want to know.

******it might be too early, yes. but I can say, already: yes and no.  
remember, I built the Bot to resemble me in relation to my mom to begin with. his primary purpose was to care for her.** ** **

It hits Even then. The Star of Bethlehem and the not-made-up background story. All the thousands of hours, the endless care put into Isak’s work. How Isak thought it to be a dick move, and all Even saw was beauty.

******I can’t believe you think that was selfish.** ** **

******you don’t think it was?** ** **

******No.  
I think it was just love.** ** **

Nothing happens on the screen for five seconds, ten, twenty. The screen fades to grey, then black. After a minute, a notification.

******I guess I never saw it as that simple  
but I’m very glad you do  
you should eat now** ** **

Even looks down at his now-cold pasta plate.

******warm it in the microwave for a bit** ** **

He smiles down at his screen before typing out a reply.

******I will. Thank you.** ** **

******bon appétit  
and thank you** ** **

Even doesn’t ask him what for. A thought occurs to him.

******Hey. Can you cook?** ** **

******does reheating stuff in the microwave count?** ** **

A person can smile past pain, Even knows this. He’s doing it now—clinging to the muted relief that’s there just past the hurt. The bitter taste of a bay leaf; Isak, this Isak, the source.

******Good night.** ** **

******good night, Even** ** **

* * *

The week goes on like this: Even sending pictures of his breakfast, his lunch, the occasional dinner. There’s always a thumbs up in return, followed by a more or less laconic assessment of the food’s quality.

He doesn’t even think about how it makes him eat, or that it makes him feel accomplished in a kind of offhand way, until it’s Sunday and he’s back at Yousef and Sana’s for dinner. The table is laden with at least a dozen little bowls and a large tagine pot in the middle, and out of habit, he snaps a picture and sends it to Isak.

******If you made all that food I’m equal parts impressed and scared** ** **

******Ha ha  
Don’t worry, I’m at a friend’s house.** ** **

******is that zaalouk?** ** **

******10/10  
You obviously know your Moroccan cuisine.** ** **

******I used to eat that all the time at a friend’s house too  
still do sometimes  
enjoy** ** **

******I will.** ** **

Sana narrows his eyes at him across the table until Even gets the hint and puts his phone away. Their month-old, still unnamed baby gurgles in her arms while Yousef finishes setting the table, Zeki at his heels, and suddenly, a warm streak of pride runs through Even. He’s here, surrounded by warmth and friendliness and his own tentative sort of family. He doesn’t have Isak, his Botsak, not anymore, but he managed this, and there’s worth in that too.

In reply to the food photos, Isak sends him more or less frequent updates on Botsak. More now that slowly, more and more memories seem to get unlocked.

******I think I might be starting to figure out part of the programming issues. It doesn’t mean I can fix them, but I think I’m getting a better understanding of why these glitches appeared in the first place. maybe.** ** **

Like clockwork. _good night, Even. good morning, Even._ A few days later, Even remembers to ask Isak if he’s opened the notebook.

******I did** ** **

******Was it helpful?** ** **

******not exactly** ** **

******Is it a diary?** ** **

******it’s research** ** **

******Really? What about?** ** **

******you** ** **

The tram is full of people headed home after work. He looks around at all the other commuters, then looks back at his screen.

******Like what exactly?** ** **

******everything  
your likes, dislikes. measurements. sleep schedule  
things that, statistically, made you laugh** ** **

Even laughs.

********Statistically?  
There’s math involved?** ** ** **

********oh yeah  
graphs, charts, z-scores** ** ** **

He doesn't know what z-scores are but it sounds kinda hot.

********Why a notebook? Couldn’t he keep all that information in his head? Why bother with writing?** ** ** **

********ah  
because of me I guess  
that’s what I do** ** ** **

********Keep research notebooks on dudes you want to bone?** ** ** **

********yes** ** ** **

Even raises his eyebrows in surprise.

********j/k I keep that data in my phone of course** ** ** **

********j/k no, for robotics work mostly  
********

********writing out my observations helps me see the bigger picture better** ** ** **

There’s a pause.

********he was a little obsessed with you** ** ** **

Torshov comes and goes. That’s fine. It’s not too cold. He’ll walk from the next stop.

He types as he waits for the walk sign to change.

********I was kind of obsessed with him too.** ** ** **

_good night, good morning._ One day the _good night_ comes late and Even frowns, realizing he’d been waiting for it to go to bed.

********your ex that came to see you, Sonja  
is she the one you wrote a hundred love letters to?** ** ** **

********Yes.** ** ** **

Even blushes as he sends the text. Not because of Sonja, but because this means that Isak must have seen that first attempt at filming. The one Even called _The Incident_ in his head until it became a memory made of only love too.

He wonders what Isak saw in it. If it was apparent, from Botsak’s point of view, how much Even enjoyed it.

********she’s pretty** ** ** **

********She is.** ** ** **

But she’s not Isak, Even doesn’t say. Still, he adds, _It was a long time ago_.

********She was good for me, for a while. We were good for each other.  
But she became more of a caretaker than a lover with time.** ** ** **

Isak. Bot-Isak. Botsak was both, and it didn’t bother Even. He doesn’t think it would ever have started to bother him. He wonders what did it—if it was the programming or the personality of his creator shining through. If that could be considered the Bot’s personality as well.

Perhaps it should bother him more, how Isak the bot and Isak the man have started to blend together in his head. It’s true, what he told Isak the week before—that Botsak is, or was, kind of an extension of Isak. Not that they could be interchangeable, not at all, but-

It’s odd, thinking of how Botsak is in that same house as Isak, and that in reality, Even thinks of them as one. One, but not the same.

Just as he never fully understood Botsak, there’s something elusive about the real thing, the man, as well. Something Even can’t put his finger on. They’re not the same, but they still both feel like a riddle, or a puzzle, that Even wants to unlock, to understand. He wants to keep trying.

********I could see that. and I think the Bot did too.** ** ** **

********he definitely noticed that she wasn’t very welcome** ** ** **

********You don’t say.** ** ** **

********those shorts didn’t favor his thighs really** ** ** **

********No?** ** ** **

********don’t they look a bit disproportionate?** ** ** **

********Is this fishing for compliments about your legs? In that case, Isak, another 10/10 for transparency.** ** ** **

********Or, what do I know?  
Maybe your thighs are as scrawny as your dick.** ** ** **

********I liked you better in real life  
without all these idiot jokes** ** ** **

_Temper, temper_ , Even thinks. He bounces on the balls of his feet.

********Should I stop?** ** ** **

********nah  
don’t get any ideas about you actually being funny though** ** ** **

********Oh, I would never.** ** ** **

********it’s funny though** ** ** **

********What? My jokes?  
Or your penis?** ** ** **

********ha fucking ha** ** ** **

********no  
his tactics********

********I don’t understand it  
I would never do that** ** ** **

********You wouldn’t?** ** ** **

********of course not** ** ** **

How is it that Isak sounds like he’s lying his face off even while texting?

********I must admit.  
Once I got over the shock of the moment…  
I thought it was pretty awesome?** ** ** **

********lol  
really?** ** ** **

********Yeah.  
Very caveman, not bot-like at all.  
It was deliberate and territorial.** ** ** **

********So is this where you differ, Isak?  
Are you cool in the face of jealousy?** ** ** **

********bots don’t get jealous, Even** ** ** **

********I don’t know.  
Botsak seemed pretty jealous.** ** ** **

********he wasn’t** ** ** **

********Well, if you’re certain.  
You’re the one with the code or whatever that tells you how he got there.** ** ** **

This Isak may be Isak Prime but he’s also el_wright. Even's remote winter companion, his sparring partner. So very easy to bait.

********Though  
if Botsak was meant to act the way you would  
in social situations…** ** ** **

********This was a social situation.** ** ** **

********not exactly** ** ** **

Even bites his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

********Now we know that you’d wiggle your  
super tight running shorts  
down your (alleged) tree trunk thighs and flash your junk  
to distract someone from my imminent nervous breakdown.** ** ** **

********please** ** ** **

********Kind of sweet if you think about it.********

********How can we test this theory?  
You know I still have those shorts.  
Maybe I can lend them to you?** ** ** **

********bye** ** ** **

Even sends him a series of nonsensical emojis just for fun. Whatever meaning Isak gets out of them will be better than any actual message.

Isak sends back a middle finger emoji. It’s almost as soothing as watching a video of a puppy falling asleep.

* * *

With eating, work gets easier too. Everything is a little easier, day by day. Not good, exactly—he still misses Isak, Botsak, so much—but his grief is slowly blending into something more bearable. Not something he doesn’t know how to carry, but more like a part of himself.

He no longer feels like he’s wringing out every last drop of energy from his brain and body every day, and after a few weeks of steadily kind-of eating and sleeping, he starts thinking about talking to Inger again about the promotion. Maybe it’s the kind of distraction he needs now that he might be able to handle it.

One day after work, between the tram stop and the supermarket, there’s a familiar cloud of brown curls approaching on the sidewalk.

“Jonas.” Even stops, unable to tear his gaze away from the equally bushy but tiny head in the sling on Jonas’ front.

If Jonas is in any way disquieted at seeing Even, he doesn’t show it. He only breaks out in that wide, slightly open-mouthed smile, lifting his hand to a shake. “Hey, man.”

Their last interaction was when Even called him from the Christmas market in sheer panic, and Jonas never called back.

Even isn’t mad. He gets it. There’s been a lot going on for Jonas too.

“Congratulations.” He nods down to the baby, fast asleep against Jonas’ chest. It’s so tiny. Must be the same age as Sana and Yousef’s, more or less. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know, not sleeping, on a permanent baby high.”

“I don’t actually but it sounds…good?”

Jonas laughs. “It is. I’m exhausted, but it’s not regular, self-imposed exhaustion. It’s greater than yourself. How have you been, man? I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch; it was really difficult with Teo here. Pregnancy was fine, but hours into delivery, things started going awry. But both mom and him are good now.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“You look great.”

“Are you also going to tell me that I’d been looking rough, like Magnus?”

To Jonas’s credit, he smiles. “Definitely.”

They walk together and Jonas invites him over to his apartment for a coffee. He brings Isak up in a matter-of-fact way and Even feels it then, how Jonas’s relaxed attitude allows for conversation to not seem fraught even when the topic is loaded. Botsak is mentioned first―what an incredible creation―and then that becomes a conversation about Isak himself and how incredible _he_ is.

“He’s brilliant.”

“Yes,” Even murmurs.

“I’m glad we’re talking, he and I. I’d missed him a lot. At the time, my reasons for the sale weren’t about the cash flow. I genuinely thought we’d be able to help more people with the might of a big manufacturing company behind us. I never thought they would play us like they did.”

That’s exactly what Isak had said. 

“It sounds like a difficult time.”

“It was. I felt like I’d lost everything. My work, my ideas, my best friend.” The baby on his chest farts wetly in its sleep and Even can’t quite muffle his laughter.

“Little Teo has excellent comedic timing.”

Jonas wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, I’ll be right back.”

While he wanders out, Even smiles to himself. He takes out his phone. Smiles for a mirror selfie in Jonas’s hallway and sends it.

********#mr.stealyourman** ** ** **

********Jonas would never** ** ** **

********I can be very persuasive.********

There’s a flurry of typing but nothing comes through.

Jonas walks in, looking down at his phone. “Did you tell Isak you were here?”

Even laughs. “Wow. That didn’t take long.”

Isak sends Even a gif of a fax machine spitting out an image of a middle finger.

“Did Isak say something funny?”

“Not really, he’s just so easy to rile up.” Even wipes at his eyes. “Delightful.”

Jonas’s eyebrows shoot way up, a bemused smile on his face. “Delightful? Isak?”

 _Is he?_ “Yes.”

“He likes you. Despite how extremely fucking weird this whole situation is…I knew he would. It’s Isak and this is kind of his thing.”

“What? Becoming friends with a guy who was in a relationship with a bot version of himself?”

“Ha. No.” Jonas shrugs. “The indirect path. I gotta start dinner. You want to stay? We have enough.”

“Thanks, but I should go.”

“You’ll have to come back when Isak and Magnus are here. We had a good time gaming. Holding on to our youth.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” It’s not politeness. He would.

Jonas furrows those formidable brows. “Listen, Even. The particulars of how we met and became friends stays between us. Not because owning a bot is shameful…I’m doing this mostly to protect Isak. No one needs to know about his bot.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Even nods. “Hey, where’s the baby?”

Jonas looks around. “Oh. I put him in a drawer.”

“What?”

“I’m kidding, dude. He’s in his co-sleeper. Life is hard. He’s getting all the sleep he can.”

Even thinks that’s an excellent suggestion. When he gets home, he showers, dries off, and gets into bed.

Peeking out from under the bed is the corner of the Cindy Sherman book. His phone vibrates on the nightstand. He forgot to turn it off.

********hey** ** ** **

Even looks at those three letters. He imagines how softly they’d be said.

********Hey.  
********

********you were right  
Botsak was a little bit jealous** ** ** **

********that is, if jealousy wasn’t a single emotion but  
this is hard to explain** ** ** **

********Try me.** ** ** **

********if you can think of jealousy as a series of actions instead  
  
to protect  
to keep  
to possess** ** ** **

Even’s eyebrows go way up.

********Possess?** ** ** **

********there’s no way to say it without it sounding ominous  
but I can tell you, it’s not bad** ** ** **

********just naïve  
********

********What do mean?  
** ** ** **

********he thought you** ** ** **

There’s a lengthy pause.

********he thinks** ** ** **

********you’re his** ** ** **

Even considers briefly before typing his response.

********I am.** ** ** **

Isak doesn’t answer and Even’s sure he’s spooked him. But what’s this in comparison to everything else Isak has seen via the Bot, or heard directly from him? He could say, _I’m yours_ , to Realsak right now and it would be true as well. 

********And now that you’re thoroughly freaked out  
I’ll say good night.** ** ** **

********I’m not freaked out** ** ** **

********what does freak me out** ** ** **

Even straightens, waiting for the worst.

********is your shower singing** ** ** **

********you have an enormous repertoire  
  
the flower duet from Lakmé?** ** ** **

********It’s from The Hunger! The David Bowie movie!** ** ** **

********I didn’t know it  
but luckily, Botsak did a search** ** ** **

Of course he did, Even thinks wistfully.

********I like your voice** ** ** **

He expects another volley, a snarky conclusion to that comment, but Isak lets that sit. And Even internalizes it, feels the compliment settle inside his chest.  
  
Isak sends a photo. The view of an empty garden from a window, tree branches just outside. In the reflection, he sees a bit of Isak’s hair, curling at the ends.

********it’s not a garden allotment view  
but it’s mine** ** ** **

********good night, Even********

********good night, Isak** ** ** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible content warnings for this chapter: nothing in particular. 
> 
> We hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that you're ready to follow us and Even further into this story. From now on, _The Boyfriend Experience_ will update weekly again. We can't wait to hear what you think. <3


	10. Honest Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak sends him a photo of himself. He’s getting more comfortable doing it, less self-conscious, and this one is no different. His eyes are sleepy slits, his cheek smooshed against the pillow. His hair is a fluffy mess. There’s a crease under his eye. _Oh, the crease,_ Even thinks, and touches it with his little finger.
> 
> A few days later, after buying paint samples and testing them out to see how the light hits them during the day, Even realizes that the ‘Antique Green’ he picked for the bedroom is soothing for a specific reason. It feels foolish, to have missed the obvious. At the same time, there’s no denying the calm the color brings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no content warnings for this chapter.

The following weekend Even decides to do something he hasn’t for almost a year: transfer all photos from his phone to his computer. The memory storage is getting full, and he wants to back them up, just in case.

It takes hours. There are so many pictures. Thousands, most of them of Isak. _Botsak_.

He keeps having to remind himself. It’s not natural yet, to think of Isak as a bot. But every time he slips, he forces himself to course correct. There is a real Isak and Even fell in love with a copy of him.

Realsak and his Botsak.

Botsak by the window, squinting at the sun, laughing. In the park, turning to smile at Even over his shoulder. Close-up portraits, his parted lips, gaze soft, serious, and wide. The stubble on his jaw.

The photo Even sent to el_wright in the beginning flashes by, and Even picks it up and enlarges it on his computer screen. His own face shining with adoration, Isak’s lifted chin.

Photos of Isak in bed, sleeping. His beautiful, beautiful lashes. His arm slung above his head on the pillow. That soft tuft of hair in his armpit.

The phantom sensation on Even’s lips of kissing his way down that flat chest, down his smooth, warm abdomen.

Even closes his eyes and lets his forehead fall down in his hand. Isak. No, _Botsak_. Every time he thinks he might be beginning to be okay with everything, he circles back to this. It’s a wound that doesn’t fully close.

There are only a handful of pictures post-December. Mostly snapshots of his food, of his surroundings, almost all of them taken to send to el_wright. Realsak. _Isak._ An Isak who is late night jokes and conversations about the weather, news, travel. Lowercase letters in a Twitter DM. A blue beanie and the smell of coffee. 

From one Isak to another. Somehow he'd never quite vacated Even’s life.

When the upload is complete, he connects his hard drive to his laptop and rises to get a glass of water from the sink. His body feels like it’s twice its age, stiff and heavy with longing. A quick glance at the clock on the microwave tells him he hasn’t eaten for hours. He isn’t hungry, but perhaps it’s time.

His phone chimes from the table.

**I can’t fucking believe this**

**What?**

**you really don’t know how to use Grindr do you?**

Even’s stomach does a not wholly comfortable flip. Yeah. His frantic attempt to handle his Botsak-related horniness by installing the Grindr app. That particular day was…something.

**I told you I had an account.**

**with the same username as your Twitter**

**JERKSTORE**

**I can’t**

**who fucking has the same handle for those two apps??**

Twitter. That was another trying day. Granted, Even would probably not have made that choice again. But he was blinded by grief, by love, by everything going on. It just happened.

**I actually downloaded Grindr that day and deleted it right after  
and never hooked up with anyone through it.**

**okay but please tell me you’re not using twitter to hook up with people**

**I don’t hook up with people.**

Ten seconds of silence.

 **of course** **my bad**

**Besides, I only created that Twitter account to message with you.**

**really?**

**Yes.**

Another ten seconds of silence.

**that explains the lack of tweets on your account**

**So you admit to checking out my Twitter profile.**

**of course I did**

**but there wasn't much to see there**

Even grins and heads over to the refrigerator. He puts the phone down on the counter and opens the door. It’s a mess as usual. Miraculously, he finds some cheese that hasn’t spoiled and half an unbrowned apple. He adds a couple of crackers to the plate and after he’s done cutting apple slices, licks the butter knife carefully.

**was there more on your Grindr profile, I wonder**

**Like you haven’t checked it already.**

**thought you said you deleted it**

**Yes, but Botsak probably immediately saved it to his memory bank and you had yourself a peep.**

**a “peep”?**

**Sure.**

He nibbles his cheese slice and taps his foot. It’s been a while since he’d felt something other than lethargic.

**do you really think I want to stare at your micropenis**

Even shakes his head at the screen.

**I didn't have my dick as my profile pic.**

**well you wouldn't have since it's tiny**

**but you know there’s no shame in having a tiny penis**

**you’re the one who told me that**

He slides the pad of his finger on his plate and licks a cracker crumb off, typing a slow reply, one word at a time, with his left hand.

**Did I? How reassuring of me.**

**nor in enjoying snowballing**

His hand stills in the air. Isak _did_ check out his Grindr profile. The sneak. This calls for a casual response.

**No?**

**definitely not**

Even stares at the screen, weighing the phone in his hand. It’s a bit strange, hearing an opinion like that out loud, about such a private matter, from someone who is Isak, but also isn’t. Who is anonymous to him in a way but also very much not.

Botsak could take one look at Even and know exactly what he wanted. And with time, Even learnt exactly what the Bot liked too. Then again, he has no idea if that was inherited from his creator, or if it was the pleasure bot programming. It would feel too weird to ask. He really wants to know, though. Even murmur-raps, _What’s your dick like, homey? What are you into?_

Fuck.

He’s too sober for this conversation.

There's Botsak in his head, handing back his phone. Face perfectly blank.

**Do you think he was jealous then too?**

**about you using Grindr? no**

**I think he just didn’t understand why you would turn to someone else when he was right there.**

_Me neither_ , Even thinks. _And I didn’t_.

**he was quite persuasive**

**You could say that.**

The showers, the shorts, Botsak’s words about wanting and want.

**persistent  
you did quite a job resisting him**

But what does Realsak want?

**That doesn’t sound entirely modest, just so you know.**

**I’m not referring to myself here, Even  
it’s about the pleasure bot protocol**

He has no difficulty imagining Isak's exasperated eye roll with that text.

**besides I would never be that blatant or relentless**

Strangely, Even wants that to be a lie. 

**So you’re saying you’re smooth?**

**the smoothest**

**Sure.**

**I’ll have you know that I have so much game**

**So much game!**

**yup**

Even smiles, shaking his head. Being a braggart shouldn’t be fucking cute.

**So**

**Tell me**

**How many people have you hooked up with in the last month exactly?**

The screen goes blank.

Is it embarrassing to want to high five yourself, alone at your kitchen table? Because that is exactly what Even feels like doing right now. He chuckles to himself, waiting, enjoying every second.

**that’s beside the point**

**besides, I’ve been busy with Botsak  
**

Despite his impromptu cheese plate, Even’s stomach growls. Downloading the pictures, looking at them all, filled him with longing instead and made him forget. Now he’s hungry. For an actual meal, not a placeholder.

**Yes, I know.  
**

**I have to go make dinner.  
But before I do…  
since you saw my profile  
now *you* have to tell me *your* Grindr username.**

**no I don’t**

**Yes, you do.**

**I’m gonna assume it’s el_wright.**

**fine** **it's 'sleazy_e'**

**Seriously?**  
**  
Don’t you try to lie yourself out of this too.**

**what do you mean *this too***

**if I lied to you you’d never know**

This is George Costanza levels of self-delusion and Even LOVES it.

**Right.**  
**I forgot.**  
**You’re smooth.**

**the smoothest**

Even’s stomach growls again in an alarming fashion.

**I really do have to go.**

He doesn't want to go.

**Have a good night, Sleazy_E.**

**you too, JERKSTORE**

**enjoy your meal**

He cooks dinner for himself—chicken and rice—but it’s kind of boring. He’d rather be teasing Isak all night.

As he stirs the pot, he tries to envision the faces Isak would make if they’d have had this conversation in person. It’s sort of titillating—this is, admittedly, something he never experienced with Botsak. He tries to picture it: maybe a slight blush, or an eye roll accompanied with a far-too-dramatic shrug. Either way, he’s positive he’d be able to tell Isak’s lies from the truth in a second. Or even less.

As he climbs into bed for the night, his phone pings again.

It’s a picture of an old folder for a Cindy Sherman exhibition at the Modern Museum of Stockholm. It’s a bit frayed at the edges, but the picture on the front is unmistakable. _Untitled 92_. An unsettling photo, but real.

**my mother loved her works too  
it was the last trip we went on together**

Even runs his finger over the screen. It moves the picture around.

**Did you enjoy it? The exhibition, I mean.**

**yes and no. it was kind of scary. but interesting  
I was too young maybe**

**I’ll show you my book some time. Maybe you’ll like it better now.**

**It’s always good to revisit art.**

**See if it makes any more sense now than it did when we first encountered it.**

**You should give it another look.**

**I could do that**

He thinks about the Bot, his finger traveling down the length of a leg in another Sherman photograph, saying, _I could do that_.

**Yes, do.**

* * *

Even gets that promotion and, for a while, he lets work take over. Still, he doesn’t lose touch with his friends or his life. He continues meeting up with Magnus regularly, to the movies or just for post-work coffee. Magnus tells him how he’s thinking of moving in with Vilde, now that things have gone to “the next level.” This is said with a wink. Even grins.

“So you had sex finally.”

“We had sex,” Magnus says with a grin of pure joy.

“Congrats, Magnus.” Even pats his hand. “I mean it. That’s great.”

“I know! I was worried, but everything was awesome. I really thought I was going to let her down or something.”

“Why would you think that?”

Magnus grimaces. “I get in my head with real girls. It’s not their fault. It’s me. With my past girlfriend bot experiences…I mean, pleasure bots, I knew I couldn’t let them down so I was more relaxed. Not that I didn’t try to please them. I did. It just helps when you know they won’t make fun of you.”

“Why would they make fun of you?”

“Everyone makes fun of me,” Magnus says with a shrug and takes a giant bite of his pastry.

Even turns over what Magnus just said. “You’re not calling them your girlfriends anymore.”

“They weren’t. Not really. I mean, I cared about them a lot. But it’s not like Vilde. Man, I know this sounds dumb to say, especially to you. But I think that-” He looks up, suddenly nervous. “Sorry. I know things with Isak must still be pretty raw. We don’t have to talk about this, bro.”

“No, thank you. I want to hear it.”

“It’s different. When it’s real. If Vilde doesn’t want to go out, we just stay in. She’s in yoga pants and complaining about her shitty job at the theater―it means so much to have that.”

There’s more relationship talk and pastries, then a walk home in the biting wind. It wakes Even up, makes him feel real. He walks into his apartment, puts down his wallet and keys and sees a new text notification from Isak.

**so I got to the end**

**20 August  
**

**as promised I didn’t go past that**

He takes off his shoes and walks over to the couch, stretching out sideways, crossing his legs at the ankle. Even had expected to be more nervous about this moment, but he feels remarkably calm. Instead, the prevailing emotion is…curiosity.

**What is it like? What do you see? From Botsak’s point of view?**

**a lot of you**

**Oh. Like my ass?**

**NOOOO wtf**

**He must’ve seen my ass by then.  
Which means you’ve seen my ass.**

**Awkward.**

**I didn’t look**

Even laughs out loud, picturing Isak covering his eyes.

**Such a gentleman.**

**absolutely**

**What I really meant was…  
What does it look like when you access his memory bank?**

**Is it code?  
Or like a movie?**

**it’s both**

**I can “see” them separately or together  
the visual memories are like a movie  
but the way we see things  
without ourselves in it, if that makes sense**

**he sees himself in the mirror  
but like me, he tends to look away **

**Why?**

**because he, or I, rather  
don’t like to look at myself**

**Really?**

**do you like to look at yourself?**

**Yeah, sometimes ha ha ha**

**okay, Gaston**

**OMG did you call me a Disney villain?  
This is an important moment in our friendship, Isak.  
I feel very close to you now.**

The typing bubbles go on and on, then stop. Even knows how Isak operates at this point. This is where he’s so annoyed, he probably puts together a string of middle finger and poop emojis, then deletes instead of sending. One time he did send and spent a hilariously long amount of time apologizing for doing so. As if Even hadn’t laughed his ass off.

**But seriously, our faces are funny.  
Sometimes I like to look at my face until I can’t make sense of it.**

**how could your face not make sense  
what does that even mean**

**Are you laughing?**

**yes**

**Good.**

He imagines Isak laughing and it's better than good.

**If I had your face I’d look at it all the time.**

**yes, Even, you have made it abundantly clear you like my face**

Even smiles, surprisingly unembarrassed.

**Don’t think I’ve forgotten  
You’re a bit of a snake, Isak**

**what do you mean?  
**

**You let me write dm poetry about your looks  
and didn’t think to stop me.**

**ughhhhh**

**You just let me go on and on about how beautiful you are. What’s that about?**

Isak has the decency to pause for a while before answering. Even wonders if he’s blushing.

**how could I without having to explain who I was?**

**I’m sorry**

The three dots go into overdrive again. Even looks at his books on the wall shelf, sorted by color. Still.

**his notebook is all about you**

**You said?**

**meticulous notes  
all this data**

**it doesn’t bother you?**

**Sounds intense.  
But no. Not really  
  
Should I see it?**

**no**

**I don’t think he meant for you to see it  
  
he wanted to know you  
so he studied**

Even’s surprised by how much this information touches him.

**Was that the carebot programming?**

**some but also no  
**

**most of that is me**

And what is that? What makes up him? Who is Isak exactly? Even's so lost in these questions, he startles when the phone chimes again.

**btw**

**he really liked your face too**

**can’t say I blame him**

Even laughs and types.

**I know how you can make it up to me then.**

**oh?**

Does Even dare? He does.

**Send me a picture of your face.  
Don’t think about it too much.  
Don’t use any filters  
Just take it**

**and send.**

**I thought you needed time before you could see me again**

**I did and I do.  
Thank you for giving me that time.  
But right now I’d like to see your highly unattractive face  
that I don’t like looking at  
at all.**

A photo comes through, not long after. Isak stares at the camera, head tilted with no small measure of defiance, one eyebrow raised. His mouth is a little open and there are his lovely sugar cube-teeth. A lock of blonde hair curling over his eyebrow.

He’s older, Isak, and it thrills Even. This sign of a lived life. An Isak who grows old and looks beautiful enough to break his heart.

**Thank you. #blessed**

**now you**

**I’m sorry, Isak  
but as I’ve told you repeatedly  
I will not send you nudes.**

**fuck you, Even  
your face obviously**

_Can one play hard-to-get via text?_ Even tries.

**Oh you want my nonsensical face?**

**yes, I want a photo of your  
highly unattractive  
makes-no-sense face**

******And what did you do to merit this gift?** ** **

******Not look at my ass in Botsak’s memory bank?** ** **

******what ass?** ** **

Even attempts to snap a photo of himself making a wide-eyed face of shock, but he’s too busy laughing. It’s a lot of teeth and practically no eyes. He’s got a hint of a pimple coming in on his chin, because he’ll be breaking out until he’s elderly apparently. His hair is getting too long. It’s in his face. He sends it anyway.

******So what do you think?** ** **

******Be honest.** ** **

******just as I remembered** ** **

******homely af** ** **

* * *

Even has a very good month.

His first assignment as lead editor on a project is for a chocolate ad with an astonishing director who really should be working in film, not shilling Freia. They shot too much footage, but all of it is usable, and Even finishes ahead of schedule—pleasing the client and garnering future work for the company.

******will you get a bonus?** ** **

******Maybe.** ** **

If he did, he wouldn’t know what to do with it. Travel maybe. Even thinks about Italy.

******What about you?** ** **

******I’m exhausted, work has been insane  
but I’ve been trying to have a better sleep schedule ** ** **

******a friend of mine told me I had to** ** **

******Your friend sounds like a bossy prick.** ** **

******maybe  
but  
he’s also nice ** ** **

The wall of Post-its has been bare since Even took them down. Looking around his apartment, Even decides it's time for a change.

******I think I want to paint my apartment.  
******

******I looked at colors on Jotun.  
What do you think of these?** ** **

Even sends four colors. He knows Isak is at work, but this way he’ll see them on the way home and tell him what he thinks.

As he sketches ideas for where he wants his furniture and plants to be post-paint job, the phone rings. Isak. This is a fairly new development. 

“An actual phone call. What is this, our third? Fourth?” Even drawls, forgoing a greeting. They’re past that now.

“These paint names are ridiculous. ‘Honest Yellow’? What the fuck? Whose job is that?”

“Not mine. I’d come up with even more ridiculous shit.”

Isak barks out a laugh. “On that we agree.”

“‘Boner Blue.’ ‘Dissociative Beige.’ ‘Orgasm White.’”

“‘Pretentious Pink.’” Isak rolls his _r_ prettily. Even has to close his eyes for a moment, his hand over his heart.

“So. What do you think of the colors?”

“The ‘Lively Red’ is good.” Isak pauses then, and coughs several times.

Even sits up from his slouch, suddenly hyperalert. “Are you okay?”

“Eh, I have sinus issues. The drip is making me cough. I know that is super sexy information.”

Isak goes quiet. Even laughs.

“Actually, this explains the sniffing. Once again, Isak. Kudos.”

“Hmm?”

“Botsak always sniffed. I thought it was endearing. I don’t think I would have thought that from anyone else.”

“Uh, thanks?”

What else can Even say? _Your post-nasal drip just gave me a boner_ is a step too far outside of their comfortable friendship zone. Nevertheless, it’s alarmingly true and…unusual. It has been a while since anything has aroused him.

He adjusts himself and tries not to feel guilty. “You’re welcome.”

Isak laughs softly. His laugh is hoarse too, somehow rough and soft all at once. Even wishes he could knead into it like a cat.

There’s a clearing of a throat on the other end of the line.

“What?” Even asks, worried suddenly that, like Botsak, Isak can hear his heart rate go up over the phone or something.

“I was just thinking…you would have been a good person to help me refine Botsak. You see things other people don’t see.”

Now Even really goes silent.

“Maybe after you finish your place, you can help me with mine?” Isak asks hesitantly, as if this is an unreasonable request.

“Um, yesssss. Let me look for the most ridiculously named colors and we’ll start there. Definitely doing ‘Honest Yellow’ for your bedroom.”

“I regret my choices.”

They talk until Even’s in bed and even then, he’s reluctant to say good night. He wants to close his eyes to that familiar-unfamiliar voice. Wake up to it again in the morning.

Isak sends him a photo of himself. He’s getting more comfortable doing it, less self-conscious, and this one is no different. His eyes are sleepy slits, his cheek smooshed against the pillow. His hair is a fluffy mess. There’s a crease under his eye. _Oh, the crease_ , Even thinks, and touches it with his little finger.

A few days later, after buying paint samples and testing them out to see how the light hits them during the day, Even realizes that the ‘Antique Green’ he picked for the bedroom is soothing for a specific reason. It feels foolish, to have missed the obvious. At the same time, there’s no denying the calm the color brings.

He gets a haircut.

It’s the first one he’s had in forever that he actually likes. Not too short, with a perfect amount of side-swept up top. He looks tidy and together and feels it too. Tidy and together.

Isak asks for a photo; Even sends him one of the paint samples on the wall instead. Isak doesn’t complain, he texts back instead:

**'warm blush’ is a terrible name but the color looks really good**

It is good; everything is good.

Inger uses her connections to snag them a spot at Maaemo to celebrate the last project’s success. Even forgets sometimes how much of a foodie he can be if he lets his attention shift there. There are so many things to be fascinated by in the world.

This is usually the moment where things are going so great, he has to stop and question whether he’s going hypomanic. But no, this is something else. It’s too contained for that. It’s not a high, it’s a quiet sense of life…being very nearly perfect.

Inger’s husband meets her for drinks after their dinner is done. Even bids them goodbye and settles the bill with the corporate card he can’t believe he’s allowed to use. It’s such a small, stupid thing, but he’s amazed sometimes that he arrived at a place where he could be trusted with a credit card. He’s laughing to himself at the coat check, when he feels a slap on his back.

It’s Marius, the head salesman at his company. Almost as tall as Even himself, slightly more built, but with the same dirty blonde hair. Their similarities end there, however. On the few occasions they’ve spoken, he’s given Even no other impression than the usual “business bro” one. All smiles on the outside and nothing that even remotely rhymes with Even on the inside.

As a “creative,” it’s rare for Even to interact with these guys, but he can handle it. All he has to do is smile and let them talk.

“Even! Nice to see you here.”

“You as well! How are you?”

And Marius is only happy to tell him, in minute detail. The car he’s looking at, the Saint-Tropez vacation he’s taking, the hot date he’s going on tonight with some guy who’s been playing hard-to-get, despite Marius paying. Even nods, polite grin in place. Still grinning, he takes out his phone and texts Isak quickly with his thumb.

******Save me.** ** **

“Hey, you’re here!” Marius says past Even’s shoulder.

Even turns around and there he is, stepping in from the street as if Even’s text made him materialize right outside.

Isak.

Isak’s eyes widen slightly and then scan Even, up and down, quickly. Even stifles a giggle, because that was fast and also, _what?_

“Even, this is Isak. He’s my dinner companion this evening.” Marius winks.

Oh. _The hot date._ Even turns slowly and extends his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Isak.”

“Even, was it?” Isak tilts his head, and gives him a sullen stare that has way more heat in it than it should.

Even doesn’t know if Isak’s utter lack of subtlety is deliberate or not, but he laughs.

“Yes. Even.”

“So how do you two know each other?” Isak asks.

While Marius slides into a polished and utterly false recollection of their work relationship, Even multitasks.

First, he checks Isak out. In a friendly way.

He looks. So good. He’s wearing a gray dress shirt and fitted black pants. His side swept hair glows a nice burnished gold in the dim restaurant lighting. And he’s slightly broader than Botsak. In the shoulders, the chest, like he works out. Not too much, just the perfectly calibrated amount, powerful but natural.

There’s still a hint of shadow beneath his eyes, but he does look more rested than the last time Even saw him. Not at all as taken back by Even’s sudden appearance either. He looks Even straight in the eye, with a tweak of playfulness. A held-back anticipation that draws Even in, makes him want to keep that mirthful glint fixed on him.

Even doesn’t dare look farther down for too long. If he keeps looking at Isak’s legs in those pants he might just start drooling. They’re definitely not as scrawny as he joked about.

Second, he takes his phone and takes a quick creeper shot of Isak while still nodding at Marius. He opens his texts and hits send.

******Look at the hot date this douchebro from work is gonna hook up with tonight.  
He says he doesn’t put out but I don’t know…  
It’s the cool ones you gotta watch out for.** ** **

There’s a buzz in Isak’s back pocket. If he didn’t know Isak―and does Even? Does he really? God, he _might_ ―his expression might be considered one of bland politeness. But there’s a muscle twitching on the right side of his face, by his mouth, as if he’s trying not to laugh. He smoothly takes out his phone, murmurs a soft “excuse me” and checks his notification. He does smile then, quickly pursing his lips and licking them back to a more neutral expression. Isak types, being careful to look up at Marius and laugh encouragingly.

******I think you’re on to something  
he looks like the kind of guy who’d blow you in the bathroom five minutes after meeting you  
******

******“thotty”** ** **

Even turns away to cough-laugh into his shoulder. In the corner of his eye, he sees Isak’s shoulders hitch up and down a little.

Third, he’s just so happy to _see_ him. It’s not entirely because of that face. Isak’s been a constant fixture of his day for some time now, much like the Bot was at the beginning, but with such a difference too. Even never knows what to expect with Isak, with his smart remarks and counterarguments. He feels so true.

Even realizes that he’s missed him, which makes no sense—how can you miss someone you’re getting to know?

Isak wiggles his hands down in his pockets, tilting his head a little to the side and giving Marius a quick side-glance before he goes back to watching Even, the corner of his mouth curling up like a secret.

Thanks to his meds, Even only had one glass of champagne with dinner but he feels like he drank a whole bottle. Isak is openly grinning at him now and Even wonders what would happen if he just grabbed his hand and ran out of here.

The ever-oblivious Marius continues talking about their last holiday party back in December. Who slept with who, who cried and who puked. This time, Even’s more blatant when he texts.

******So it looks like I might have to save you instead.** ** **

Isak looks at his phone.

Marius puts his arm around Isak, reminding Even that he’s the interloper here. Hastily, Isak shoves his phone in his pocket.

“It was awesome seeing you, man. Keep up the good work.” Marius drags a hand back through his hair. It reminds Even of his own, new hairstyle but greasier.

Slowly, Even puts on his coat and adjusts his scarf. “Thank you. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Nice to meet you, Even.” Isak’s eyes are steady on him.

“Yes. You as well, Isak. Good night.”

Even walks halfway home and doesn’t look at his phone until he’s on the tram; it buzzes in his pocket.

A message from Isak.

******please do** ** **

Even considers letting Isak squirm a little, but decides against it. He hits call, a soft but giddy laughter bubbling in his chest.

“Hello?!” Isak answers on the first ring, a faux-panicked tone of confusion to his voice that Even knows is bullshit and bullshit only.

He wonders if Marius sees through Isak’s lying face as easily as Even does.

Even forces his voice up a pitch, grinning. “Isak Valtersen? This is Mr. Nielsen from the fire department. I am sorry to inform you that your upstairs neighbor left the water on and there’s been a flood. We had to break down your door to assess the damage and it doesn’t look good.”

“Oh my God. Are you kidding me?” The upset tone in Isak’s voice doesn’t sound at all convincing, but Even will take it. He bites his lip against a totally involuntary smile.

 _I would never even think of joking with you, Isak_ , he wants to tease, but realizes that he might be heard through the receiver on the other side. Too late, he also realizes that Marius maybe knows that Isak lives in a house and not an apartment complex.

But, to be honest, he doesn’t really care. That’s for Isak to sort out.

“I’m afraid not. You should probably get here right away.”

“But I’m—fine. I guess I have to.” Isak lets out a loud sigh. “I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

Even hears a faint _I have to go_ before the call disconnects, and leans his forehead against his own hand holding the pole. He types with one thumb,  
_You’re welcome._

A few minutes later, his phone rings.

“Hello?” He mimics Isak’s theatrical worry as much as he can.

A short, dry laugh on the other end. “Jesus Christ. What _was_ that?”

“You liked it?” Even straightens up, still grinning. “I’ve been told I’m an excellent actor.”

“I don’t mean your call.” Isak breathes, short and a little strained, as if he’s walking quickly. “That guy. What an idiot.”

“I know.”

“I’m never getting set up on a blind date again.” Isak sighs. “It was Mette, at my work.”

“Fucking Mette,” Even says.

“Yeah. Fucking Mette.” Isak laughs again before he falls silent. Only his ragged breaths, the sound of his feet against the pavement.

Even closes his eyes at the sound.

“This date was set up, like, three months ago,” Isak says, suddenly. “I wouldn’t have gone but it’s a long waiting list to that place, and Mette had been nagging me forever to go on a date with him. Said he would be ‘just my type.’ I don’t know.”

The words come out in a haste, as if Isak’s hurrying to let them out.

“I disagree.” Even bites his lower lip, grinning. “He didn’t look like your type at all.”

“I don’t have a type.” Isak’s reply is quick as lightning.

“Oh, I think you do.” Even looks up. His stop is next.

Isak’s huff is so loud, it could be next to Even’s ear. “Right.”

“Short. Really jacked. Dark-haired.” The doors open, and Even climbs down into the night, stomach bubbling. “I’m pretty certain those were your exact words.”

“That’s not—I never said that.”

“Want a screenshot?” For a second, Even considers actually scrolling up to their conversation weeks and weeks ago, before he realizes it might take literal hours. “I’ll send it to you, no problem.”

“Fuck. Is this-” A street light ticks on the other end, coming closer, then fading. “Never mind.”

“He isn’t exactly short. Or jacked. _Marius_.” Even draws the sss out, shoving his hand down his pocket to find his keys.

“He’s an idiot.” Isak sighs. “I can’t believe you have to see him at work every day.”

“I don’t. And yes. He’s an idiot.”

“A rich idiot.”

“They are abound.”

“They are.”

Isak’s breaths have slowed down. Maybe he’s nearing home too.

“Hey.” Even closes the door behind him, turning on the hallway lamp. “It was good seeing you.”

“Yes. Me too.” Then softly, and for some reason, Even pictures him in the dark, “I’ve seen so much of you, I expect to see you? If that makes any sense? I want to see you.”

Even leans against the wall by the elbow, pulling off his shoes. “You’ve seen so much of me? So you _are_ looking at me naked.”

Isak groans. Laughing, Even slides over to the hall closet and hangs up his coat and scarf.

“Oh my God. Why are you the way you are?”

 _You like it_ , Even thinks. _You like me._ He decides not to continue torturing Isak, as fun as it is. “Did you like the food at least?”

“It was okay.” Isak yawns.

“Three Michelin Stars and just okay?”

“Isn’t Michelin…a tire company? Do they rate restaurants?”

Even unbuttons his shirt. “You’re fucking with me right now.”

“No. I mean, some of it was good. The portions were teeny. But like, everything had flowers in it? And I don’t want to eat my backyard. Sometimes you just want a fucking pork chop.”

“Mhmm. I know a good place that’s a foodie paradise and has excellent pork chops. I’ll take you there.”

“You want to meet me…in person?” Even hears Isak swallow.

“I want to.” He slips the shirt over his shoulders, throws it in the hamper. Unbuttons his pants, takes those off too. Tries not to think too much about what he's asking Isak, what he’s asking of himself and just be. “Let’s pretend we’re tourists. Do something touristy. Then we’ll go eat.”

“Umm, okay. Sounds good.” Isak coughs. “When?”

“Next Saturday. You free?”

“Let me check my calendar.” There’s a too-short pause. “Yes, I’m free. I’ve ‘penciled’ you in.”

“Aww, really? You use a calendar. That’s so cute.”

“You don’t use your calendar or set a phone reminder for meetups?”

“No, I just remember. Or forget. I won’t forget this though.” Even catches his reflection in the mirror. He doesn’t look bad. “Okay, I gotta go shower before I fall asleep.”

“You’re going to shower…now?”

“Yeah, I like to shower at night. I thought you knew that. Since you know everything.”

The line is silent.

“Isak?”

“Sorry, I- You know when you’re about to say something and you forget it before you can do that?”

Even thinks. “No.”

Isak laughs. “Ugh, how you do remember anything? You’d drive me crazy.”

“I think you’ve had a long day, Isak, and you should rub one out and go to sleep.”

“What?”

“You’re probably a little cranky because you didn’t get to bang your Grindr date. This way you’ll get rid of your tension and go gently into this good night.”

“Marius wasn’t a Grindr hook-up! I told you he-”

“I’ve seen his dick, Isak. I saved you from more than boredom. It’s not a pretty dick.” Even slides off his underwear and turns. He’s happy with what he’s got.

“Okay, but. How have _you_ seen his dick?”

“At this company pool party last year. And at the urinals.”

“You looked?”

“I always look. Don’t you?”

“Oh my fucking God.”

Even smiles, he pictures Isak rolling those eyes. Would it be undercut with a look of affection? Something to find out in person.

“Look, I know a lot of people through work and whatever. I’ll find you a much better prospect than Marius.”

There’s rustling on the other side of the line, then quiet. “I don’t think I want to be set up right now.”

“You’re hot, Isak. Someone should be dating the fuck out of you. Make you eat all the flower dinners! Along with my apartment redecoration, this will be my other spring project. I’ll be your fairy godmother.”

Isak snorts. “I already have one of those. I’m good.”

“Oh? I’m not the only special person in your life?”

“Of course not. There’s Jonas, for one.”

“And?”

“This could take a while. And you’re probably standing in your bathroom naked while the shower’s running.”

He’s half-right. “Fine. Go to bed. Don’t text me articles about extinct beavers at 2.30. Sleep and send them to me in the morning.”

“You read the article?”

“Of course I did. I love beavers. Oh, and that blanket. The photo? The blue one with the flowers? It looks heavy as fuck.”

“It is! It's made from Llama fleece and is super dense. Jonas got it from his uncle who's stationed in Antarctica half the year."

Isak's voice speeds up and Even can tell he's warming up to the topic. Familiar/unfamiliar. As much as Even would like to keep Isak on the phone, he needs to be good.

Even turns on the shower. “Sleep schedule, Isak.”

“Okay, Even.”

There’s a message waiting for him when he slides into bed.

******I forgot to say** ** **

******I like your haircut** ** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting. Please continue sharing your thoughts, we love reading them. 💗 
> 
> TBE is a fan art friendly fic! If our story inspires you in any way to make some, please do.


	11. Motive and opportunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even asks Isak to share a photo of himself in high school and smiles upon receiving one from Isak’s second year.
> 
> “Just as I thought.”
> 
> “What?” Isak says, with a hint of defensiveness.
> 
> Even looks at 17-year-old baby-faced Isak’s long skinny-jean-clad legs, backwards snapback, and scowl. The pouty, coral-colored bottom lip and hint of curls beneath the hat that counter the overall picture of teenage hostility.
> 
> It’s cute. He’s cute.
> 
> “No. We never crossed paths.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see end notes for possible mild content warnings.

At some point, it seems like all office interiors became about transparency. Glass cubicles, community spaces, visible productivity―everyone in their little box, or outside of one. Even usually tunes out the visuals. Pretends he can’t see everyone moving around in his peripheral vision. Co-workers walking back and forth, clustered in corners and talking, lips moving. Bright spots of color from the flashier dressers. Constant coffee runs from nearly everyone else.

Today though…today he pays attention.

There’s Sven in Accounting. Tall, stern-faced, blond. He leaves sometimes with a gym bag and a tennis racquet. A little dull. Even remembers him admitting that he didn’t understand why people were “so into” music.

No, Isak wouldn’t like that.

There’s Omar at the front desk. Not blond, but tall and fit. Good ass. Funny. Smart, too, leaving the company in a couple of months to get his Masters in…what is it? Maybe Isak would make an exception for him. He tries to picture them talking, Isak laughing, but the picture isn’t quite right.

Omar smiles. Even shifts in his chair and waves, he must have drifted off staring at the guy. He gives him an apologetic shrug and turns back to his computer screen.

Pål in Sales. Blond, average height, thin. Sweet. Maybe too sweet. He doesn’t see him faring well if Isak was feeling feisty. Nils from the Animation team. Not blond, but attractive in a fleshy-lipped young John Travolta way. He mentioned liking Miyazaki once. But then again, who doesn’t?

No one seems like a good enough match.

It’s just as well. Isak doesn’t want to date anyway.

Which is not what he’s doing with Even. Their meet-up is not a date, it’s a friendly hang.

Saturday. A whole week. It gives him time.

Time to prepare himself for a day in Isak’s company. Isak, not Botsak. Isak, who he knows and doesn’t, who’s so familiar that it feels safe to see him and at the same time so unknown that it’s enough to make Even at least a bit nervous.

As always, his vibrating phone provides a welcome distraction of a sort.

**going to meet up with some guy on Saturday  
what do you think—button down or sweater?**

**“Some guy.”  
** **I suppose anything’s an improvement over Marcus.**

**MarIUs  
omfg, you’re the one that works with him**

***sends gif of Mariah Carey shaking her head and saying “I don’t know her”***

**lmfao**

**Where are you going with this completely random, totally anonymous guy?**

**a reptile zoo**

**That’s very forward.**

**lol what do you mean**

**Well, think of all the snakes.  
** **He clearly wants to see how you handle a python.**

**or maybe he’s the kind of guy  
who loves making dick jokes  
and this location will give him  
motive and opportunity**

Even laughs out loud.

**“Motive and opportunity”  
Like you read procedurals  
or watch Law and Order.**

**do not**

**okay I do sometimes**

**not by choice tho  
they’re hard to stop watching once they’ve started  
I need to know who did it**

**It’s really simple  
if the biggest guest star isn’t the victim’s mom**… **  
then they’re the killer.**

**I never thought about it like that**

**Like what?**

**as a formula**

**Oh, Isak.  
There’s always a formula in storytelling.**

After work, he goes to the gym, does laps in the pool and heads home. Thinks about Isak and how he’d looked at the restaurant.

**Button down definitely.**

**why**

**Because rolled up shirtsleeves will contrast better with the snake.**

**I’m not petting any snakes**

**“Petting”**

Isak doesn’t reply for a while and Even goes into the bedroom.

**is this weird at all for you?**

**A little.  
You?**

**yeah  
a lot**

**Because I know you and yet.**

His phone rings. Isak immediately starts talking. “Yes. Exactly.”

“Do you know me?” Even asks.

“I do,” Isak says slowly. “…and I don’t.”

“So you understand.”

He sighs. Even wishes he didn’t love hearing it so much.

“Isak, you’re my friend. I enjoy talking to you. I’ll try and forget the fact that you’ve seen me wet and soapy in the shower-”

“God!”

Even can practically hear the eye roll.

“And you can try and forget that you’ve seen me.” Isak stops. “Too,” he finishes weakly.

It takes Even nearly a minute. They’re used to long, warm silences on the phone. They talk for at least a couple of hours at a time so one learns to experience the occasional silence as conversation.

He sits up. “Did you just confirm that the Bot’s body is an exact replica of yours as well?”

“Well,” Isak demurs. “Not an _exact_ replica.”

“Ha! I knew it. You gave yourself a bigger dick.”

“Actually, that’s mine.” Isak laughs. “Fuck, this conversation is weird.”

“That’s your dick,” Even says flatly. Less question and more regular disbelief.

“Yeah.”

“Gold star for you.” Even’s throat is dry. He pulls himself together. “So what’s different?”

Isak mumbles something away from the phone.

“I didn’t hear that…what was it?”

“I said ‘his ass is better.’”

Even grins and that grin blooms. Before he can stop himself, he’s crying with laughter. On the other side, he hears Isak mutter a glum _ha ha ha_.

“Okay.” Even wipes at his eyes. “How is it better?”

“More in proportion to my thighs.”

His grin widens but he keeps his laughter in check.

“So, your ass is the size of a barn door. Good to know. I’ll take out my largest armchair when you come to visit. I sincerely hope you’ll fit in it.”

“Idiot. _My_ ass is smaller, obviously.”

Isak says it on an exhale, and Even pictures him lifting his hand in a _what the fuck am I supposed to do with you_ gesture.

“You did give him a fine ass though.” He opens the closet, and looks at the shirts hanging there. White, a couple of formal ones, flannels, in no particular order. When Botsak still lived here, they were always neatly sorted, but not anymore. Even is the only one who wears them now. “But I’m sure yours is fine too.”

“Uh. Thanks, I guess.” Isak’s tone is dry like a cough.

“What else is different?”

“Apart from the obvious? Not much.”

“The obvious?”

“Well. Botsak is modeled after me, but I started building him when I was in my early twenties. It’s been almost ten years, Even.”

Even thinks about Isak, dressed up in the Maaemo lobby, and his slightly broader shoulders. “Does it bother you?”

“Getting older? Nobody likes getting older.”

“It bothers me less now, compared to when I was with Botsak.” Even bites his lip. “And you know…I hadn’t actually realized that until this moment. Huh.”

Isak’s exhale is like a soft buzz through the phone.

The line goes silent again for half a minute. He turns the t-shirts over one by one. White, gray, white, gray, black. He should get some colors.

“That’s not what I meant though.” Even leans on the wardrobe door, picking at the seam of his jeans. “I literally meant if it bothers you that you don’t look exactly like Botsak. Anymore.”

“I don’t know.” Then, with a note of vulnerability. “Should it?”

Even answers without thinking. “No.”

“Okay.” There’s a scraping on the other end, maybe a chair, like Isak just sat down. Then, the sizzling sound of a cap being opened and something pouring into a glass.

“What are you drinking?”

“I don’t know. Some hipster beer Jonas left when he was here last week.” A short pause. “We were gonna get a kebab and hang out at my place and he fell asleep after like, one hour.”

“Some friend he is.” Even grins. “I would never do that to you.”

“Fall asleep at my house?” Isak laughs. “Never.”

“Never.”

There’s the sound of Isak swallowing, and Even tries to picture it. The crinkle of Isak’s eyes when he drinks something carbonated.

“Is it good?”

“Kinda? It’s very…rich. Tastes like coffee. Or chocolate.”

“Sounds hipster.”

“Yeah. That’s Jonas for you.” Isak huffs, then adds, “I don’t usually drink by myself, just so you know.”

“I know that. And it’s fine.” Even yawns, stretching out on the bed. “It’s just a beer. Besides, it’s Thursday. It’s almost the weekend.”

“Yeah.” Isak takes another sip. Even pictures him licking his lips afterward. “Almost Saturday.”

“When we go for dinner, will you want beer then too? Or wine?” He turns on his side, elbow under his head.

“Any is fine, really. I used to be a beer guy when I was younger, but now I’ve gotten…accustomed to wine too, I guess.” The glass is set down. “And you?”

“I like everything.”

“Why am I not surprised? Of course you do.” Isak laughs again, and this time, it’s more of a giggle, bright and small, before there’s a tiny burp. It’s unbearably cute. “Sorry, I feel a little-”

“Drunk? From one beer?” He grins. “You really don’t drink often, do you?”

“Shit.” Isak chuckles. “It’s 10.8 percent.”

“Practically wine. Congratulations on your unexpected one-man Thursday wine party.”

“I’m not alone.” The frown on Isak’s face is nearly audible. “I’m talking to you.”

“You are.” Even closes his eyes, resting his head on the pillow.

Another silence stretches out between them. Even could fall asleep like this, to the sound of Isak breathing. No words, just knowing that he’s there.

He hears Isak set the glass down, hears the sound of the chair scraping against the floor, of Isak walking. A tap turning on, then off. Even wishes he knew all the rooms in that house so he could picture Isak walking around in there. What his bedroom looks like when he lies in bed talking to Even on the phone.

“Are you nervous?” Even asks finally.

“Yeah. A bit.” In the silence of what Even assumes is the bathroom, he can hear Isak breathe. “Aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Or—a little nervous, of course, but mostly…I don’t know? Curious?”

“Curious. Yeah.”

“I mean, when we were messaging, in the beginning, I didn’t know how to picture you at all. And then I knew what you looked like, but I still saw the Bot in front of me when I heard your voice and now, when I talk to you…I mostly see you?”

“Okay.” Isak’s laugh sounds less amused now, more tentative. “I guess that’s…logical.”

“And it’s probably the same with…who you are as a person.” Even rolls up on his back, eyes scanning the ceiling.

“I didn’t watch past that day,” Isak says suddenly. “The 20th of August.”

“Why would you?” Even stretches his free arm out over his head. “My body is very ordinary, we already established that. Not much to look at there.”

Isak’s huff echoes between the tiles. “Yeah. Because _that’s_ what this is about.”

“Although one _could_ argue, since I’ve technically seen your dick-”

“Seriously-”

“-it’d only be fair if you saw mine.”

“You’re the one who always looks.” Isak’s deadpan face is easy to picture. “Not me.”

“Hmm.” Without realizing it, Even’s hand strokes the soft strip of belly under his shirt. He pulls it away, eyeing his fingers as if they were traitors. “You’re, uh, welcome to keep looking. It’s probably very vanilla anyway.”

“No,” Isak says firmly. Then, more softly. “No, I don’t want to go past that date.”

Even swallows, suddenly shamed. Was it presumptuous? Or too much? Too weird?

“Not because you’re hideous or anything,” Isak continues in a hoarse rush. “I could probably stand to watch it, if I _had_ to,” he adds, laying on the sarcasm and instantly making Even relax. “But I don’t know.”

He offers nothing past that. That’s really it; that’s the statement and Even doesn’t know either. “Yeah. You might not be able to control yourself from jumping me if you saw any more of those memories.”

“Oh yes, Even, your candlelit missionary is really gonna drive me wild.”

Even laughs. “I mean, you seem basic.”

That garners him a new laugh from Isak. It’s surprised-sounding and loud. “That’s me. A basic bitch.”

“So friends then?” Even asks, holding his breath.

“Friends.”

Their conversation rights itself, returning to the safer ground of Saturday morning NRK programs that they both watched when they were kids. They’re only two years apart. Probably went to the same high school parties. Even asks Isak to share a photo of himself in high school and smiles upon receiving one from Isak’s second year.

“Just as I thought.”

“What?” Isak says, with a hint of defensiveness.

Even looks at 17-year-old baby-faced Isak’s long skinny-jean-clad legs, backwards snapback, and scowl. The pouty, coral-colored bottom lip and hint of curls beneath the hat that counter the overall picture of teenage hostility.

It’s cute. He’s cute.

“No. We never crossed paths.”

Isak laughs curtly. “Oh, you’re sure about that?”

“I would have remembered you.”

“I’m that memorable, huh.”

 _You’re just my type_ , Even thinks. Then blinks. It’s true. Was and is. How is that so? He thinks of Isak’s face behind that torn cellophane—the inevitability of choosing him.

* * *

Even wakes, works, socializes a little. He goes to the gym, works up a sweat, goes home. Texts Isak, DMs Isak, speaks to Isak on the phone.

He sleeps. Well.

Midweek, he’s not surprised to find himself with his cockhead in his fist, and coming after less than two minutes of stroking in the shower. Even’s not thinking of anything in particular.

He’s just horny. That mindless, under-the-skin need to feel good.

He celebrates by picking out a movie.

The phone rings. “I’m overworked and bored.”

“Go to the gym.”

“I went to the gym.” Isak sighs, mumbling. “I just got back from the gym.”

“Have a bath.”

“I just took a shower.”

Even lets the image of showering Isak wash over him, then wills it away. “Go to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep.”

Even rotates his shoulder until it gives a little. “I was about to watch a movie. Want to watch it with me?”

“How do we do that?”

“You buy or rent it and we press play at the same time.”

Isak grunts. “Or I could come over and we could watch it at yours.”

Even hesitates and, as if sensing that he’s too close to a landmine, Isak backtracks. “Sorry, I don’t mean that. What are we watching?”

“An old movie.”

“Is it in Norwegian?”

“No. English.”

“Ugh.”

“What? Is your English as lackluster as your love letters?”

Isak snort-laughs. “That wasn’t- No, it’s just. I don’t want to have to work.”

“You’ll be fine. I’ve seen it before, it’s a bit of a comfort watch. The story’s about two friends who are in an unsatisfying place in their lives. They go away to the country for the weekend and they think it’s the cure for everything that ails them. But-”

“It isn’t?”

“You have to watch the movie and see. So are you in?”

Isak sighs. “Yessss. What am I renting?”

Even send him a rental link. “Let me know when you have it, then we’ll count to three and press play at the same time.”

The experience is unusual but also, in the strange way of their relationship, comfortable. Ordinary. Even expects Isak to fall asleep immediately but he doesn’t. He stays up and asks questions. Laughs uproariously during Even’s favorite scenes, which Even delights in. He’s always liked sharing the things he enjoys, but this is a notch higher. As if Isak’s enjoying Even, in a way.

When the movie’s over, they’re sharing anecdotes about disastrous getaways and Even learns that in the past five years, Isak hasn’t left the country for anything other than conferences. That, even then, he stayed within the comforting radius of his hotel. How he missed traveling for traveling’s sake. They talk about possible destinations and Isak sounds further and further away.

“Go to sleep, Even. Close your eyes.”

Opens them on Friday. One more day. Closes them again.

And then, just like that, it’s Saturday.

Which, as it turns out, is still plenty of time for Even to continue overthinking.

Like, for example, what he should wear.

What does one aim for on a date that most definitely isn’t a date, but still kind of feels like one?

Admittedly, Isak has seen most of his wardrobe through the Bot’s eyes, so there won’t be any surprises there. In the end, he goes for a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt and a blue and white-checkered flannel. Sneakers. Light years from his Maaemo outfit, but he looks okay.

He knows Isak likes his new haircut at least.

For once, Even manages to catch an earlier bus than intended, but Isak is already there as he gets off. Leaning against a brick house on the other side of the street and staring at his phone with a slight frown.

Even snatches the opportunity to stand still and watch him for just a few seconds. His long legs, fitted dark slacks straining over his thighs. White shirt, sleeves rolled up almost to the elbows. A black jacket hanging over his arm. Hair combed to the side in a manner that’s probably meant to look offhand but must be deliberate. It’s a shade darker than Botsak’s—from winter or age, Even can’t tell. His face looks clean shaven, soft, kissable.

Even shakes the thought off and picks up his phone. Dials. Watches Isak pick up, brows knitted together. “Hey.”

It’s not hard to sound breathless. “Hey, sorry, I’m running a bit late.”

Isak’s face relaxes a little. He swivels to the right, his back perfectly straight. “Sure, okay. How late?”

“About forty minutes.”

“Umm, okay,” Isak says, his expression faltering. He appears not…disappointed exactly. He looks worried. Sad.

“I’m sorry,” Even says remorsefully. “Are you there already?”

“No.” Isak winces, bringing his free hand to his hair. “But I can kill some time before, uh, going.” He gestures towards the Reptile Park and looks around, helplessly.

“Geez, Isak. You really are a terrible liar.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look across the street.”

Isak's head snaps up and they immediately lock eyes. Shaking his head, Isak simultaneously hangs up with his left hand and flips Even the bird with his right. Even laughs as he crosses the street, light as air and feeling like he’s ready to dance.

“Can’t believe I’m running into you again,” Isak says as Even steps up on the sidewalk, grin wide. “How many times is it now? Three?”

 _They say it’s the charm._ “What a coincidence.”

“Astonishing.” Isak cocks his head to the side, eyes crinkling.

He looks well-rested, well-shaven, well-showered. His hair’s damp at the roots, curling at the ends, around his ears, above his eyebrows. There’s a tiny red cut at the angle of his jaw, still sharp at the edges as if he shaved just before leaving the house.

“So, you look nice. All dressed up.” Even lifts his eyebrows. “Almost as if you’re waiting for someone.”

“Yeah.” Isak shrugs. “I was gonna meet this guy, but he just called to say he’s late. _Forty minutes_ late.”

“What an asshole.”

“Yeah.” Isak bites his lip, considering. “Maybe I should just go with you instead.”

“Actually, that’s a great idea. I know just the place.” Even nearly holds out his arm for Isak to hold on to, but stops himself last second. He nods to the side instead, Isak sidling up beside him as they start walking.

“That guy also told me I should wear a button-down, but word has it he didn’t dress to match me,” Isak says, eyeing Even’s flannel with one eyebrow raised.

“Maybe he was out of clean shirts to wear.” Even sticks his hands in his pockets. “Or maybe he was distracted by some guy that kept texting him the whole time so he forgot. Or he wasn’t sure if you’d actually dress up.”

“It’s okay.” Isak eyes him up and down once more, then grins. “You look okay.”

“Okay. Phew.” Even exhales. “I’m tolerable to be around then?”

“I’ll manage.” Isak laughs, short and hoarse, before he looks down. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have brought this jacket though. It’s gonna be too warm today.”

“I’ll take it for you.” This time, Even stretches out his hand without thinking.

Isak hands him the jacket, smiling, and for a few seconds this _does_ feel an awful lot like a date.

He shakes the thought off, nodding to the white building to their side. “It’s in here. Come on.”

The lady at the counter smiles widely at them, asking if it’s their first visit, and Even says “Yes” and Isak “No” at the same time.

“You’ve been here before?” Even stares at him incredulously. “Here I was, thinking I would grant you the pleasure of meeting a tarantula for the first time in your life, and you already did.”

Isak gives him a lopsided smile. “I was, like, ten. I’m not sure if that counts.”

“Yeah. I guess it won’t be the same tarantula anyway.”

“Actually, it might be. They can grow to be 40 years old.” Isak raises his chin, a small curl to his lip, and for a second he sounds and looks so much like the fact-finding bot version of himself that Even’s heart skips a beat.

Then, he glances over Isak’s shoulder, to the small line that’s started forming behind them, and back at the cashier whose smile has turned a little impatient.

“Your tickets, please?”

Even smiles apologetically at her as they make their way into the bottom floor of the zoo, Isak first and Even right behind him.

“So, this place rubbed off on you,” Even says as they stop by the first cage. A tired-looking salamander lies unmoving on a rock, black eyes drooping and feet hanging down its sides.

“Not really.” Isak peers through the glass, shirt stretching over that long back as he bends to get a closer look. “I was that kind of kid that used to read and read and everything just…stuck. And for a few months, well, spiders were my thing.”

“So who took you here?”

“My mom.” Isak looks up at him, mouth curled into a small smile.

“Of course.”

Isak turns his attention back to the cage. “I’m not really a spider person anymore though.”

“Yeah. I _would_ have guessed for snakes to be your thing.”

The eye roll Isak gives him is almost a full-body one—neck bending back, shoulders slumping. “I should have known I wouldn’t be safe from your horrendous sense of humor in real life either.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started.”

“I bet.” Isak sighs, but there’s a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, stretching his upper lip over his teeth.

His teeth. Even looks away, into the cage, and decides to walk over to the next one.

A tree snake lies folded in bright green loops over a branch, thick head hanging down with its tongue rattling out, and Isak sighs once more beside him. “Don’t.”

“I would never.”

It proves to be a challenge to keep an appropriate distance to Isak as they stroll around the rooms. Even is so used to casually having him close—a hand on his arm, hip to hip, a quick kiss on the cheek. Constantly, his hand is on its way up to touch, a habit he obviously hasn’t shaken during the long months of Isak’s absence.

To add to it all, it’s Saturday, which means there are literal heaps of children bumping into both Isak and Even at all times, forcing them to sidestep around to get to the animals and hence get closer than intended, and fuck. It’s testing. Not only because Even is careful to not give Isak the wrong idea about this being something date-like, but also because—well. Isak is right there. Right beside him, as if he’d never been anywhere else.

There are the little differences though, all equally fascinating in their mere existence. Even can’t stop himself from looking. At Isak’s shoulders, his thighs in those pants, his neck which is a tiny bit broader than the Bot’s. His jaw that’s slightly more set. Even wonders what Isak would look like if he didn’t shave for a couple of weeks. If he’d acquire a thicker beard than the Bot would.

Probably.

The idea of Isak with a fuller beard grabs him by the neck for a moment. It feels that immediate and visceral, like a temporary possession.

He also can’t stop glancing at Isak’s ass in those fitted slacks, and he thinks back on their previous conversation. No funny business, of course, only out of pure curiosity—because it doesn’t really look _that_ disappointing. There is definite shape back there. Is there a way to train your butt up so that it looks meatier?

In a flash, there’s the mental image of Isak at the gym, sweaty and panting, shorts straining over his thighs, and Even’s stomach does a sharp tug. Quickly, he diverts his gaze up to Isak’s arms, sticking out of his rolled up shirt sleeves.

The long, compact muscles of his lower arm. Their halo of gold hair, the hint of an incipient tan on the skin underneath.

His hands. They should be unthreatening. Except that there are Isak’s fingers, long and slender, thumb and forefinger rubbing against each other, and-

Is _nowhere_ on him safe?

His feet?

Isak’s shoes are dark brown leather, nice ones with thin black shoelaces. Dressy. Expensive, and remarkably unused. Even wonders what he usually wears to work. If he looks like this when he sits in front of his laptop, or when he walks around the lab.

“Have you ever played truant to go to a museum during the week?” Even glances up at Isak’s face again.

“From school?” Isak raises an eyebrow. “I was a good student, mind you.”

“From work. Life. Anything. To be in a gallery room when it’s just you and maybe one other person or a guard. To have your own uninterrupted thoughts.”

Isak’s responding smile is small, on the brink of private. “I have my own thoughts all the time. That’s kind of how thoughts work.”

Even laughs. “Yeah.”

“I think I know what you mean though. Are you saying I should take a day off work to go to a museum with you on a Wednesday?”

“Or alone.”

Isak purses his lips and squints, considering. “With you is fine.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Isak shrugs.

He holds Even’s gaze, that small smile lingering, and Even realizes that they maybe just decided on a second date. Which won’t be a date. Or will it?

A group of ten-year-olds barge in between them, forcing Isak to step back, and the moment is gone.

Their conversation flows like this during their walk around the zoo—short exchanges interrupted by other visitors. This setting isn’t fit for any deep talk, which feels fine. Right now, it’s enough to have Isak here and slowly get used to his physical presence.

The occasional silences between them bear a slightly heavier weight now that they’re together in person, but that’s okay too. They’ve done enough talking on the phone, in messages, in emails, for Even to know that once they sit down and have dinner, uninterrupted, they’ll be good.

He glances up at Isak, who’s now inspecting a blue poison dart frog, the tip of his tongue a shadow behind his front teeth. There’s a small frown on his forehead as he reads the sign beside the glass pane, and for a second Even can picture ten-year-old Isak in here, wearing exactly the same expression.

To imagine that they’ve been both living in this city for so many years without ever running into each other.

“Oh look, it’s you,” Isak says suddenly.

A chameleon sits there unmoving, its round eyes fixed on them in a seemingly mindless stare.

“Me?”

“He has your eyes.” The fine lines around Isak’s eyes crinkle.

Even stares at the chameleon’s scrawny legs, angled out to the sides, its tiny feet clinging onto the branch. He’s just about to retort with how it literally can’t be their love child, something regarding the animal’s nonexistent butt, when Isak speaks up again, farther to the left.

“No, wait. _This_ is you.”

Even can barely make out the yellow stick insect between the leaves, melting in with the branches surrounding it. It’s scrawny and thin and…well, stick-looking in every sense.

“Ouch, Isak. How can you be so mean and so accurate at the same time?”

The shit-eating grin Isak shoots him is blinding.

The next cage holds a small, furry monkey with white fuzzy ears, round eyes huge in its tiny face. It looks like a cuddly toy.

“That one is cute though.”

“Very.” Even cocks his head to the side, watching the monkey chew on a piece of red bell pepper, its minute hands trembling. “Too bad they only have these little ones though, and not _you_.”

“Me?”

“Yes.” Even shrugs. “You know. Baboons. Tiny peens, giant asses.”

For a second, Isak stares at him blankly. Then, he sticks his hands in his pockets, taking a small step closer to Even with his eyebrows raised. “Fuck you. You know I’m not tiny.”

Even inhales, and lifts his chin. “There are children here, Isak. Mind your language.”

“Fine. I’ll save it for later then.”

“For dinner.”

“For dinner.” Isak nods, eyes still fixed on Even as he takes a step backward.

 _Come back here,_ Even thinks. _Come to me with your stupid smile and the fuzzy little hairs at your temples and your birthmarks so I can count them all. Follow them with my fingertip down your neck and down under that fancy shirt of yours._

Maybe this thought should trouble him more. Maybe he should be surprised that it, in fact, doesn’t.

It’s a simple realization, mid-Saturday, in the middle of a crowd of screaming kids and in front of a scaly grey lizard: Even wants him.

Wants him like he always has. Since the very first time, that unexplainable full-body pull toward the cellophane tear on that box.

Those green eyes fixed on Even as Isak backs away, nodding sideways up the stairs to the second floor with his toothy, expectant smile. His straight frame, the width of his shoulders, everything. Everything Even knows is just a layer of clothing away: that expanse of skin, those lean arms and thighs. Isak’s sturdy strength, his kind, brilliant mind. His thorny, tender heart.

The second floor is as small as the first, packed with running children and their parents. The place must have filled up further since they got here; they’re forced to stand in line, peering at the spiders over the heads of children, arms pressing towards each other, constantly touching, touching. If Even moved his hand just a little, he would be holding Isak’s.

As the crowd moves, so do they, and when a bunch of twelve-year-olds bump into Even so that he stumbles into Isak’s shoulder, Isak laughs. That short, hoarse giggle that makes his tongue peek out between those squared teeth and makes him look so young, so carefree.

The top button of his shirt is open—how did Even not notice this before?—a hint of collarbone showing. It’s too much.

“Tell me more about tarantulas.” He averts his gaze, letting it land on the spider in front of them.

“Their abdomens are called opisthosoma.” Isak’s voice is calm, musical in its pensiveness. “They hunt mainly by ambushing their prey. The largest species is called the _Goliath Birdeater_ , and it has a leg span of up to 30 centimeters.”

Even tries to measure it with his hands, glancing at the hairy spider behind the glass. “Gross. And scary.”

“Actually, they’re super cool.” Isak’s eyes shift slyly from Even’s hands to his face. “Their venom can penetrate the cornea of the eye, so you need to wear protective glasses when handling them.”

Even turns to the sign beside the cage. “ _Poecilotheria Regales._ ”

“Are you scared?”

“As long as it’s behind that glass? No.”

“Maybe you’ll get to pet one before we go. If you dare.”

“Spider petting? Is that what I’ll get?” Even chews his lip, thinking. “I was under the impression that I’d get to see you handle a boa constrictor.”

“They have those too.” Isak steps closer, so close that their shoulders almost brush. “So…it might still happen.”

Even keeps his eyes fixed on the sign, reading, and laughs suddenly.

“Ha. Did you know tarantula’s mouths aren’t designed to eat? They can only suck.”

“I know.” Isak stands still behind him, seemingly unfazed, the warmth of his arm so close to Even’s, inescapable in the crowd. “They’re masters of sucking.”

The low cadence of his voice is so near it’s almost palpable. Like a tickle behind Even’s ear.

A tickle that travels all the way down his spine and down his thigh, into his knee and lingers there with a prickling that almost makes his legs go weak.

If he turns around now and looks at Isak’s face, what will he find?

An invitation?

Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe this is just what Even’s told himself for weeks and months that it is: friendship, with an noncommittal hint of flirting. Something that shouldn’t cross the line because of everything that led them here, everything they are and can’t be.

At this moment, however, Even can’t help it. He can’t let it be.

The pull of Isak’s presence, his body heat, the gravity of him in the room.

Even takes a deep breath, and turns his head. Isak stands there unmoving, gaze still fixed on the spider, but with a slight flush on his cheek.

In the noise of the room, Even leans into him with a whisper. “So am I.”

A kid screams to their left, and Isak closes his eyes. Even watches him in the reflection of the glass enclosure, superimposed with the greenery behind the partition.

For a moment, everything is still. Then, Isak opens his eyes and looks right at him. Not Even’s reflection, but him directly. Those pools of darker green, fixed on Even while he says, in an equally soft murmur, “What a coincidence. Me too.”

There are people all around, but they could just as well be props. Cardboard figures, the backdrop in this movie starring them. Everything is Isak about him, and perhaps it should be scary in its inevitability, but it isn’t. His head feels light, his chest airy, a room without walls.

He wants to say something but can’t. Isak seems to read Even’s silence.

“How nice for us both,” Isak sighs, his tone flat but heavy with insinuation. As if to punctuate it, he licks the gapped line of his teeth.

The thing is—with the Bot there was always a lingering question. The relentlessness with which Botsak came on to Even from the start was unavoidable: a force which Even eventually had no chance to resist. But was it true and did Botsak have a choice in it?

This is different.

This is a look that’s so certain, it grabs Even by the back of his head and forces his eyes open, that roots him to the spot and doesn’t let go.

If Isak, this Isak, sees him this way, Even doesn’t have to doubt that it’s true—that’s the thing. And it’s equal parts startling and jubilant.

He doesn’t dare to actually touch him though. Not yet. If he does, he might not be able to stop.

The rest of the walk around is a kind of haze. Even does try his best to not trip over the countless kids running around, to refrain from grabbing Isak’s arm to keep up. Vaguely, he remembers having looked forward to seeing the turtles, but it doesn’t matter now. All he can think of is what will happen when they get out of here. If they’ll even make it to dinner.

The looks Isak sends him over his shoulder don’t make Even any less impatient. Quick looks that could be just to check that Even hasn’t gotten lost in the crowd, but that could just as well be a whole other kind. Looks to say, _Meet me in the bathroom at the exit and I’ll show you._

Even can’t help but picture what it would be like. How he’d unbutton that shirt and run his hand over Isak’s flat chest. How his small, hard nipple would feel under Even’s palm. The warmth and fuzzy hairs where his stomach meets his thigh. His smell.

How quickly could he get Isak off, he wonders. And where? The bathroom could actually work, but there are so many kids. At the restaurant maybe. A park? Too daring?

The last stop before the exit is a python, thick and brown, lying in loops on its sandy floor. A heap of children are queuing up and blocking the exit, making Even and Isak stop too. A zookeeper stands with her back to them, bending over the cage, and when she lifts the snake up there’s a choir of _oohs_ and _aahs_ from the people crowding up around them.

Even lifts his hand up to scratch at his nonexistent beard, just so he doesn’t accidentally place it on Isak’s thigh, or the small of his back.

“So…do you dare?”

Isak casts him a glance over his shoulder, smirking. “Do you think I’m afraid of touching a snake?” He draws the last word out, the last syllable a lingering, open-mouthed tease.

“No.” Even coughs into his hand. “I don’t.”

Isak holds his gaze, his face right next to Even’s. So close that Even can see the fine little hairs on his cheeks. That beauty mark on his top lip that Even could point out with his eyes closed. That dip in his chin, as if someone had put their thumb there and pressed down gently. _I could do that_ , Even thinks.

He didn’t even notice them moving along but suddenly the zookeeper is standing right in front of them, holding the snake up with a questioning lift of her brow. Isak casts Even a sideways grin as he lets the keeper lay it down around his neck and in his arms. He blinks up at Even; the whites of his eyes are mesmerizing. Even’s jaw goes slack.

“Look at that. You really _do_ know how to handle a snake. Who would’ve guessed?”

“Oh, I think you knew.” Isak raises an eyebrow.

Even watches Isak’s slender fingers stroke along the python’s back. So deliberate, yet so tender. “I might’ve had a hunch.”

“You should try it. It’s surprisingly warm.” Isak tilts his head. “Have you held a snake before?”

“I have.” Even bites his lip, considering. “But…it’s been a while. A little while.”

“Do you need me to show you?”

“Nah. It’s not something you forget.” Even shrugs, moving closer.

“I see.” Isak keeps stroking the snake, long deft fingers moving, moving. “You don’t have to. You can just watch me.”

“You are the snake charmer here.”

“I am.” Isak licks his lips quickly, then lowers his chin. “So? Come on. Try it.”

“Is it my turn now?” Even takes another tiny step closer.

“Be my guest.” Isak grins, nodding down but making no move to lift the snake up. “Touch.”

There’s a clear challenge in Isak’s eyes, and Even is about 90 percent sure that it isn’t about touching the snake, but about if Even’s actually going to lay his hand on Isak’s arm instead.

A deliberate touch. Not the accidental bumping into each other or a brush of shoulders. A touch that crosses the line between _friends_ and something else entirely, a touch that says, _This. You and I._ A touch he can’t take back, that would promise more and more and even more.

It would be so easy. The phantom feel of golden fuzzy hairs under his palm, the long taut muscle—yes, Even wants to. _God_ , he wants to.

There’s still the slight chance that he has misread this and Isak is seriously talking about petting the reptile in his arms, but-

Just as he lifts his hand, the snake moves—well, slithers slightly in Isak’s arms and Isak doesn’t appear alarmed in the slightest. His eyes remain steady on Even’s, as if _he_ were the one being held fast, and it’s that easy―Even gives and touches. He dares to touch, and the soft scales slide smoothly under his hand.

“Aren’t you scared?” Even asks, breath shallow.

“I know what I’m doing.”

This is the closest they’ve been since Even embraced him that day they first met, but Isak wasn’t Isak then. He was an echo, not the source. They’re both looking down at the python in Isak’s arms and that curlicue of Isak’s hair is close enough that Even would only need to turn, dip his head to put the tip of it in his mouth.

He doesn’t. Instead he whispers, thick and dark, “It could be trying to eat you.”

A slow, filthy little grin grows on Isak’s face. Their hands are side by side and Even slides his until there’s contact―a little finger to Isak’s thumb.

A shifting movement to his right makes Even look up. There’s a woman there, smiling, her arm around a boy not more than ten years old, all big impatient eyes and on his toes to get closer to the python in Isak’s arms. Even casts one look at Isak, who smiles and shrugs.

The boy accepts the snake joyfully, aided by the zookeeper who places it around his shoulders, his mother and father coming up to stand at his sides.

Despite the loss of the moment, Even can’t help but feel a tiny bit relieved. The 10 percent’s benefit of a doubt. Of not having to risk it. He breathes again, the rise and fall of his chest back to its regular tempo.

And—it’s a lovely sight. The parents’ proud, loving smiles. The boy’s pure, unadulterated joy. A perfect ending shot in a family movie.

When they ask if Even can take their picture, he accepts. For a minute, he lets himself indulge in the basic filters on the dad’s iPhone, adjusting the light and directing them around. He’s missed this. The aesthetics, the composition, the illusion of control. When he hands the phone back, he smiles.

The father smiles back. “Do you want me to take a picture of you and your partner too?”

Even’s on the verge of opening his mouth and saying, _Oh, we’re not_ , but Isak just says “Sure,” and hands the man his phone.

There’s nothing else to do but put his arm around Isak and smile.

His arm around Isak. The warmth of him. The not so small effort of keeping his gaze locked on the phone in the father’s hands and not burying his face in Isak’s hair, in the soft skin on his neck.

“Could you move a little closer together? There’s a lamp right behind you… There, that’s better…”

It isn’t intentional that his hand glides down from Isak’s shoulder and along his arm. It isn’t. It’s only instinct; the warmth of Isak’s body through the thin shirt fabric guiding him, pulling him in. It’s all he can do not to close his eyes and focus only on this, on their hips touching, on Isak not tensing up but melting against him.

“Can you turn toward each other a little? It would be—yeah, that’s it-”

Isak’s almost as tall as him, Even knows that. He doesn’t have to stand on his toes or stretch to meet his eyes, only lift his chin. _A good kissing height_. If Even leant in just the tiniest amount-

“There, perfect!” The man calls out. “Do you want me to take another set or-”

“I think they’re good, Eivind.” Even tears his gaze away, looking up at the mother who hands Isak his phone back. “Yeah. Sorry about that. He’s an, uh, enthusiastic amateur photographer.”

She sends them both an apologetic smile before trailing off.

“Eivind, huh.” Even keeps his hand on Isak’s arm.

Isak repeats, face still lifted up. “Eivind.”

He’s so close now, he must have turned in Even’s arms, the smell of his shampoo just the same as that day Even first stumbled upon him and followed him to his house. The allure of his slightly parted lips a promise, the firm muscles on his back a confirmation. Even’s neck is hot, and so is his crotch—if he’d step just a tiny bit closer, Isak would feel it, but as it is, Even’s pretty sure neither of them would mind.

“Should we go?” Even squeezes his arm, thumb circling the bend of his elbow. It’s so firm, so warm.

Isak nods. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

It’s a good thing, Even thinks, that it isn’t winter. That would mean that they would have disposed of their jackets in a wardrobe or locker room, and that would mean that he’d have to let go of Isak on the way out. Or that Isak would have to let go of him.

Neither of them do; they remain close, sides touching as they exit out onto the street. It’s a mutual steering. Somehow, wordlessly, they’ve agreed to whatever happens next. The sunlight is blinding, but Even doesn’t need to see. It’s enough to feel Isak this close to him, the knowledge that they’re leaving now, together, and _fuck_. Right now, Even isn’t even sure they’re making it to the restaurant. Even a back alley would do at this point—anything to lift Isak’s shirt up and run his hands over his skin, open his pants and wrap his hand around him. To see the flush spread across his neck, to see those eyes close and that mouth fall open in delight. To have a taste. Just a little taste.

Isak stares down St. Olavs with an intense glint in his eye. Even turns to see what he’s looking at. The roundabout with its shiny steel sculpture, trembling triangles at the center and, just past it, the Scandic St. Olavs Plass Hotel. Even inhales sharply, and Isak’s hand settles low on his back.

“Yes?”

It’s a biting, sharp tug of a word― _yes_. Even nods, already walking, keeping his eyes on the fluttering flags and not thinking at all.

They stop in front of the hotel doors and turn to one another. This is the last possible exit and Isak doesn’t seem particularly keen on taking it. He nods at Even and Even steps forward, thinking, _Maybe we should kiss before getting a hotel room. Maybe we should do the fairy tale thing in reverse―the kissing will makes us see what the magic hid._

Isak’s eyes aren’t symmetrical. One is set a tiny bit lower on his face than the other, more so than on the Bot. It gives the right side of his face an even more melancholy cast. Yet another detail to add to the list of differences. It is such a tender difference.

Even leans in slowly and places his lips on the inside crease of that sadder eye, and under his touch, Isak stills.

He pulls back to Isak’s near-liquid stare, his finger now hooked in the front of Even’s flannel shirt, as if he’s about to reel him in. His lips part on a husky, sweet-and-low: “I’m going to-”

“Isak!” a high, girlish voice peals out behind Even and Isak’s face instantly transforms from hungry, focused yearning to vivid irritation. He rolls his eyes skyward and grits his teeth, his lips flattening to a grim, straight line.

“Vilde,” Isak says, tilting his head to look past Even with narrowed eyes.

Even turns. It’s Magnus’s Vilde, a large cheese plant at her feet, pot and all, her arms laden with four filled-to-the-brim IKEA bags.

“And Even!”

Vilde shuffles forward, wincing, bags still in hand, and attempts to hug Even, who ducks down to make up for their disparity in height. She kisses him once on each cheek.

“Hello,” she says with a laugh.

“Hello,” he responds, charmed once again by her bubbly brightness.

After a minute of struggle, she finally puts her bags down and steps over to Isak, hugs him harder. He does not bend down, just pats her awkwardly, his clenched-teeth smile settling back into a frown. Even laughs even more, Isak’s irritation could be a drawing. A black cloud-scrawl floating over his head.

“So nice to see you both again!”

Isak shifts, adjusting himself subtly. “Again?” he mumbles, cheeks flushed.

Even bites his lip. _Oh, that’s right._

“Remember, Isak, when Vilde saw us this summer, on the street?”

“Oh.” Isak widens his eyes cartoonishly. “Right.”

“Yes!” Vilde squints. “I loved that haircut you had, Isak. You should get it again. It made you look ten years younger, like you were back in college.”

Sensing the possibility of impending rage, Even intervenes with small talk. “Not working today, Vilde?”

“No, I’m headed home actually. I just got laid off.” She smiles and nods.

“Oh no, are you okay?” Even asks, reaching out to rub her shoulder. “Do you need a drink? I hear there’s a good Italian place around here…” He looks around and points to a cafe bar right across the street. “Our treat. ”

Isak shoots Even a bewildered look.

Vilde sighs. “No, that’s okay. I’m going to see my friend Chris.” She’s sniffling now, her eyes glimmery with tears, but still grinning like everything is fine. “Can you help me get my stuff to my car though?”

“Of course.”

Even grabs the bags, which are more bulky than heavy, and Isak takes the cheese plant. Vilde tells them the whole sad story of her layoff. They walk about ten minutes until they stop by a dusty black Ford Kuga parked on a side street.

“This is my car.”

Isak puts the plant down and runs a finger on the passenger side door and looks at it. Vilde blushes.

“I’ve been so busy with work, I keep forgetting to have it washed.”

The cheese plant is difficult to get in the car but Isak manages it, with scientific exactness. He approaches it like a battle he means to win, as cleanly and efficiently as possible, dusting off his hands when he’s done. Even hands him a handkerchief. Isak laughs.

“What is this?”

“It’s a handkerchief.”

Isak licks his lips. “What are you, eighty? Who even uses these things?”

“Me.”

Isak’s hand is easy to grab, smooth and cool in Even’s grip. Even wipes one with the handkerchief, then grabs the other, does the same with the other side. Isak raises his eyebrows, lips pursed, and Even thinks he could do with a kiss.

“You guys are so sweet.”

“Thank you, Vilde.”

“Whatever,” Isak says, now-clean hand going to the back of his neck.

“I mean it. I’m glad to see you together again. You were so happy and in love when I bumped into you this summer, but then Even looked sad last time I saw him, I thought that-” She stops, seemingly cottoning on to the expression on Isak’s face. “Anyway, I’m glad.” She unzips her purse and pulls out a pale pink lipstick, applying some without looking at any available reflection, sure in her own geography.

“Hope to see you again soon, Vilde.” Even smiles.

Vilde hugs him tightly and, with surprising strength, pulls in Isak too. Isak lips are parted and when he glances up at Even, there’s a slightly shell-shocked look to him.

“See you,” he murmurs into her hair.

She jumps in her car and waves cheerily as she takes off.

They stand there watching the car turn at a light and go out of sight.

“So Vilde met the Bot.”

Even nods. “Yeah.”

“I can’t believe-”

“That I was in love with your Bot?”

“No.” Isak shakes his head. “That he fooled her.”

“He did.”

“Amazing,” Isak breathes out. “Umm. I’m not much of a drinker-”

“I remember.”

Isak laughs weakly. “Right…anyway, I’d like a beer or something. I haven’t eaten though, so I should do that too. You don’t have to come with…if you need to go.”

This is another exit, another way out. Even understands that. Isak’s throwing it out there so they can ignore what was about to go down before Vilde appeared and pretend like Even wasn’t about to let himself get fucked. Even the thought alone seems brutal and raw. But it’s true enough to leave him breathless. It was going to happen. He wanted it. They both did.

And now?

“No, let’s go eat.”

Isak appears relieved as he looks down on the ground. “You said there was a good Italian place around here?”

It’s not that good. Or that Italian. But it’s right back where they came from on St. Olavs Plass. “Yes, come on.”

* * *

“You thought _Vilde_ was a bot?” Isak’s eyes are huge.

“I thought Botsak had made a nice bot-friend at the market,” Even argues. “You have to admit, she’s got an interesting affect.”

“Vilde? Okay.”

“What?” Even laughs. “She’s got that musical little voice, and she kind of dresses like a cartoon princess from the ‘50s.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Isak says witheringly, eyes narrowing into slits. “That’s not a thing.”

“ _The Jetsons_?”

“That was set in the future.”

“But made in the ‘50s,” Even says with a measure of triumph.

“No, Even. I’m pretty sure it was made in the ‘60s. Popular culture’s reaction to the space race.”

Even thinks about it. “Shit. You’re right.”

“I know I’m right.” Isak takes a big bite of a meatball and chews it smugly.

Watching Isak eat really throws Even. He’d never given it any thought before, the faces people make when they taste something they like. The way their jaws move. Their throats working as they swallow.

Well.

He used to long to watch Isak eat.

Isak doesn’t eat delicately; he stuffs his face. But his hands are another story. He holds utensils like medical instruments he’s struggling to get the hang of but doesn’t want anyone to notice. There’s a lot of respect in how carefully he grips them, but it looks new to him. He’s cautious.

“The food here is not as bad as you said,” Isak says mid-chew. He talks with his mouth full and works his tongue on one of his bottom teeth. Even doesn’t know why he’s not disgusted.

It’s fascinating.

“Did I say it was bad?”

“You did.” Isak nods once in the affirmative. And there’s another Botsak gesture. That throws him as well.

“Yeah, I, uh, I got it wrong.”

The mood shifts again. Isak keeps chewing but gestures to their waiter, holding up a finger and pointing to his glass. He’s had one beer so far and is already a bit silly. Two will make him ridiculous.

“Vilde’s a fucking mess.”

“She seems really nice.”

Isak shrugs.

“And she likes you a whole lot.”

The waiter brings Isak his beer; he murmurs thank you and takes a long sip, licking the foam off his top lip. He shrugs again. This time he almost looks uncomfortable. Guilty.

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t exactly call Vilde if I needed to talk to someone. But. If I needed someone to supervise a plumbing job, I’d probably ask her.”

Even laughs. “That’s really specific. Have you asked her this before?”

Isak’s face turns a brighter red. “No. But similar things. She has a kind of magic.”

“That’s a really beautiful thing to say about someone.”

“Don’t tell her I said that.” He takes another drink.

They sit in silence and Even’s eye wanders over to the closest occupied table, which is on the other side of the bar. Two women speak softly over a plate of prosciutto and olives, their glasses of wine mostly empty. He tries to imagine them as lovers, but knows that’s probably wrong. Former colleagues. Kindergarten teachers who never had children and share a love of-

“She said the two of you looked happy. Were you?” Isak blinks, tries to maintain eye contact but can’t. He plays with a tiny crumb on the table, pushes it around with his little finger.

“Yes. I was very happy.”

“He, uh. Said you were too.” Isak coughs, then grabs his glass and takes another drink. “Jesus. You’re like a widower.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Only you’re _my_ widower. And I’m not dead. And we never-” Isak runs his hand through his hair. “This is so fucked.”

“Isak.”

He keeps shaking his head at the plate of meatballs and Even tries and fails not to smile. “Isak, look at me.”

Isak’s head snaps up. “I’m fine. Okay? It’s fine.”

“I know it is.” Even says it as calmly as possible and tries to impart the message with his eyes as well. Isak looks straight into them and slumps forward a little, relaxing slowly as if he believes Even is telling him the truth.

The reassurance is the tiniest bit of a fib though. Even’s not sure if this is fine at all.

“Okay.”

Isak’s hand is on the table and he turns it over, so that it’s facing palm-side up. It looks like he’s asking for something and Even sits on his hand to keep himself from reaching out.

“So you’ve been talking about me.”

“Yes.” Isak finishes his drink, turns his head to burp quietly into his arm, bouncing a little in his seat as he does so.

“Did you go back further than that August?”

“No.” He runs a finger on the mouth of the glass, then puts it on his bottom lip. “I wouldn’t look at that.”

Even feels bold. “But you’d like to, maybe.”

Isak nods seriously. “But I almost feel like I don’t have to. He’s told me so much. Too much.”

He grabs an olive and stuffs it in his mouth, glancing up at Even, quick and furtive, a blush high on his cheek.

“Does the Bot ask about me?”

“That’s.” Isak looks up and motions for the waiter. “Can I get a glass of water please? And the check? Thank you.”

“That’s?”

“That’s the interesting part.” Isak picks up his knife and cuts the last remaining meatball in half. He slides one half toward the edge of the plate closest to Even and spears the other one.

“First, I should explain something about Botsak’s programming in relation to me. I’m his creator, yes, but I’m also…him? Or rather, he sees himself as me. To him, we’re an ‘us’? So, no, he doesn’t ask about you. By his logic, he doesn’t need to ask about you because you’re with,” he points to himself. “Him. Me. Us. Like, right now. We’re together.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“So I’m your boyfriend too.”

Isak looks up, mouth slack. “Yes, I suppose. But that’s not what he calls you.” He picks up the meatball but puts the fork back down without eating it. “I need to sober up.”

Even picks up the fork and eats the meatball.

“Hey!”

He spears the other half and offers it to Isak, who stares at the fork suspiciously.

“Go ahead, bite.”

Isak narrows his eyes and grabs the fork. “I can feed myself.”

“I know. You’re a genius.”

He flips him the bird and Even clutches his heart as if he’s been given gold. Isak smiles so purely at him for a moment, those gapped teeth and his sly, sly eyes. Even has to kill the mood before he throws himself at Isak again.

“So what does Botsak call me then?”

Isak smile drops and for a long moment, it doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.

“Our Even.”

A waiter walks past with a plate of drinks; the glasses clink against one another. The door to the restaurant opens and a group enters, laughing. Even’s hand creeps forward on the lacquered table until the tip of his finger makes contact with Isak’s, whose cuticles look slightly red around the nail beds. As if he’d picked at the skin there. Even thinks about buying some hand lotion on the way home. The way the scent would smell on Isak’s skin. If he’d even like it or if Even would have to cajole him into using it. About whether or not that’s strange.

Their fingers stay where they are―touching softly. Fingertip to fingertip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possible content warnings: snakes
> 
> Whew! That was a long one. Let us know if we need to take another week's hiatus to give you time to catch up. We love all you readers for making it this far, just past the halfway point! Thank you for your kudos and comments! They brighten our week.
> 
> Check out this lovely piece of [TBE fan art](https://chilli-alwayschilli.tumblr.com/post/644742732015976448/youre-hot-isak-someone-should-be-dating-the) from chilli-alwayschilli on tumblr. We love it!
> 
>  _The Boyfriend Experience_ is a fanworks-friendly fic! We welcome all of your art, please let us know if you make any!

**Author's Note:**

> Beta reading by the lovely ashotofjac. All remaining errors are ours alone.
> 
> Special thanks to the TSH Squad. 
> 
> Come find us on tumblr: [Ghostcat](https://ghostcat3000.tumblr.com) and [irazor](https://irazor.tumblr.com).


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